THE RAVEN REVIEW
  • Home
  • About
    • About Us
    • Contributors
    • Support Us
  • Submit
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Volume I >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume II >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume III >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume IV >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume V >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume VI >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
  • Home
  • About
    • About Us
    • Contributors
    • Support Us
  • Submit
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Volume I >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume II >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume III >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume IV >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume V >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume VI >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II

Well Good​

by Hayley Verdi
I don’t think I’d like to be weary
today I’d rather roll
downhill through a garden
in full June-time bloom
then scoop up by handfuls harvests
of red light and sunlight, the warm juice of time

But lately I can’t find the time
I am gray I am weary
with dark, sickened harvest
of long days that roll
until just when the mold blooms
my own ingrown garden

rock garden
grim timer
where what’s there to bloom
are days cold and weary
of filling my role
my loss in the interest and love of the harvest

Then just when I think I’ve lost my full harvest
you’d stroll through the garden
read off the roll
tell me that time
never grows weary
always is ready to pass and to bloom

And what blooms
honey harvests
Not one works weary
in a garden
where time
rolls
​
rolls, richest bankroll
of those who full bloom
just in the right time
and harvest
their garden
of fruit weighted limbs grown wonderfully weary

I’d like to roll into harvests
with you in some garden
where time blooms for even the weariest two

Hayley Verdi teaches English and serves as the Writing Center Coordinator at Ursuline College. She writes poetry and also writes about poetry, health, and the body in her academic research. She lives in Concord, Ohio with her family.