Gloaming Hour
By Peggy Heitmann
I go to her grave at dusk,
when day slips
between worlds and spirits cross over,
before darkness settles
its black bones across the sky.
I sift loam around the Hosta
planted at her grave,
rake my fingers through soil
as I once combed them
through her curly hair.
Like a trance dancer I undulate between worlds
attuned to hear her voice again
or feel her asleep in my arms.
In this moment, I feel corporeal
and weighted to the earth beneath my feet
yet I am astral and ethereal
as I reach out to pull her back to me,
or chase her there over open fields
of endless light.
Peggy Heitmann is the author of Patchwork (Mount Olive College Press, 1997). She has published poems in Bethlehem Writers Roundtable, Asheville Poetry Review, Pembroke Magazine, and others. She considers herself a word artist, a visual artist, and a medium and has worked in the human services field with mental health clients, homeless men, and adults with autism. Peggy lives in the Raleigh, North Carolina area with her husband and two cats