Three Poems by Rose Willow

sc june 18

Night Waters

Off-the-grid we had an outhouse
At night we used a bucket.

Diluted our night waters
for watering –

Never used it on edibles
except for rhubarb
which we mostly never ate.

In-the-city our hearts filled
with homesick –

At the Convent of St. Katherina

The sky is framed in
the bedroom window.
In the forefront, Elms
gracious with their
shade, a wind stirs
flickers light
to dance the walls,
enters the room without
permission. A ghostly long ago
Habit, flows the hush of hallway.
A creak on cellar stairs, nature finds
a way of telling. Legitimate or not, bellies
full of secrets, disguise their cautious tidings.


The air close
The music heavy
The sermon too long

We stand

We sit

We kneel

We mumble in Latin
We do not understand

We beat our breasts

Once a week

For failure means going to hell

Forever and forever and ever and ever

The air close
The music heavy
The sermon damned to be long

Rose Willow’s poetry, short fiction, and creative Non-fiction have been published in Spring, Transition, The Society, Portal, Horticulture Magazine, and Saskatchewan History Magazine. She lives and writes on beautiful Vancouver Island, in British Columbia, Canada.