Rose & Thorn Journal - Spring 2012
Ruth Hill was born and educated in upstate New York. She has traveled North America extensively and is a Certified Design Engineer. Her work appears in Apollo’s Lyre, Decanto, Level 4 Press, Little Red Tree, Litchfield Review, New Millennium Writings, Ocean Magazine, Reach of Song, and many others.
Ruth Hill
Cast in Bronze
Afternoon storms
having opened their black velvet pouches
and thrown down their burden of diamonds
often give way to evenings of magnificent bronze
Come out and see the hibiscus brazing
pigeon necklaces burnished with maize
brass bells tinkling off glittering leaves
yellow sequined arches in the village square
Evenings whose warm respites of joy
are made brief by the longitudinal shadow
We are spinning away from the sun
as it appears to be spinning away from us
Newborn bees share our view through topaz honey
hive’s hum a kazoo, dripping raindrops a xylophone
amber windows everywhere
Rocks and roads and trees all trimmed in tortoiseshell
are strewn with chestnuts and chrysoberyl
Citrine evening with soap bubbles in the air
mist of bronze others see as not there
freckles on thrush, blush on the pear
Like well-oiled athletes, golden hills flex their muscles
A single robin’s silver flute calls the universe to order
Eddie Haggerty
Dad paid him a hundred
to get into my pants.
I thought he’d be cruel.
Eddie ordered two malts.
He gave me the hundred,
played a jukebox slow dance,
asked for one respectful,
lifting, gentleman’s waltz.
Cast in Bronze
Afternoon storms
having opened their black velvet pouches
and thrown down their burden of diamonds
often give way to evenings of magnificent bronze
Come out and see the hibiscus brazing
pigeon necklaces burnished with maize
brass bells tinkling off glittering leaves
yellow sequined arches in the village square
Evenings whose warm respites of joy
are made brief by the longitudinal shadow
We are spinning away from the sun
as it appears to be spinning away from us
Newborn bees share our view through topaz honey
hive’s hum a kazoo, dripping raindrops a xylophone
amber windows everywhere
Rocks and roads and trees all trimmed in tortoiseshell
are strewn with chestnuts and chrysoberyl
Citrine evening with soap bubbles in the air
mist of bronze others see as not there
freckles on thrush, blush on the pear
Like well-oiled athletes, golden hills flex their muscles
A single robin’s silver flute calls the universe to order
Eddie Haggerty
Dad paid him a hundred
to get into my pants.
I thought he’d be cruel.
Eddie ordered two malts.
He gave me the hundred,
played a jukebox slow dance,
asked for one respectful,
lifting, gentleman’s waltz.
