Sheba

    by Tina Hacker

In one of the last days of summer,

in a last hour of the day,

when minutes begin to liquefy

and flow to the earth

like thick syrup,

she stood in the doorway

and inhaled

the scent of leaves and grass

drifting through the air, 

a tang of death blurring the edges

of the aroma,

fogging the last bits of spice

released by the summer sun.

She lingered in front of the

screened door

listening to cicadas

struggle against their dying,

protesting oblivion.

A turban covered

some sparse strands of her hair,

left after the second round of chemo,

a few curling strands stubbornly clinging

to her scalp like cut roses

cleaving to color and fragrance.

Like Sheba, she looked regal

in her headdress and robe,

straight and strong

to the passerby,

her mind not ready to answer

the question facing

the moth circling the light above her head.

© 2009 Tina Hacker

* Previously published in Kansas City Voices

A Pushcart Prize nominee, Tina Hacker was a finalist in New Letters and George F. Wedge competitions.  Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Bellowing Ark, Blue Unicorn, Piedmont Literary Review, I-70 Review, Mid-America Poetry Review, Kansas City Voices; two anthologies, Show + Tell and Missouri Poets; and upcoming anthologies from Helicon Nine Editions and the Imagination & Place Press.

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