2 Poems by Michael Spring



the hearth



whether it is a Rumford or a pit

or a mass of brick


it is the fire

that draws us close


our hands opening

for the heat




the logs in the flames

look like limbs

torn from a torso

or bones:


the sacrum or columns

of a spine 


or a crumbling skull




perhaps the skull is in

the position of bowing

to the earth


where it melts and becomes

a surface for shifting images





I’ll throw more wood

into the hearth


forget about the movie



nothing replaces fire











when Vivian Fine found her piano in the forest

she leaned over the lid warily

as if looking into a bog –


the shadows below the trees were green

and black – heavy

as a bridge


the trees creaked in the wind as she began

her composition of Portal


the dark wood of the piano

was polished slick as glass


as her image swam to the surface





Michael Spring is the author of three poetry collections: blue crow (LitPot press, Inc., 2003) Mudsong (Pygmy Forest Press, 2005) and Root of Lightning (Pygmy Forest Press, 2011). Root of Lightning was awarded and honorable mention for the 2012 Eric Hoffer Book Award. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in numerous publications, including Atlanta Review, The Dublin Quarterly, Flyway, Gavea-Brown, Innisfree, Midwest Quarterly, NEO, Spillway, and Turtle Island Quarterly. Michael lives in O'Brien, OR. He is a natural builder, a martial art instructor, and a poetry editor for The Pedestal Magazine.