Eleanor Zuercher Poems

The first, best, Christmas present
Was simply presence.
That moment of birth contained
Also death,
...

Friday

At dawn
As the fire sinks and gutters
...

On Friday they buried with Him
A life which hides in death,
A joy which sinks in sorrow,
A power enmeshed in weakness,
...

Our craving for light and certainty is such
That homes and streets and cities are submerged
In such a flood of light, that darkness is hard
To find, and urban glow, afflicts the night
...

In the black obsidian surface
I see defined and reflected the hidden
Facets of my character, starkly etched
Into the accusatory glass,
...