by Rita Rouvalis Chapman
Each dawn the flock splits across the emerging day
Not unlike shards of cloud losing the muscle of night
Not unlike the bright ginkgo leaves dropped in the gutter
By the sun for the afternoon
She gathers the yellow back into herself come evening
A rose window breaks the light across
The altar like a flower in prayer
Not all of these can return all the time
Not all of us hear the calling back
Some remain outside this wide sleeve of sunset.
Rita Rouvalis Chapman Rita’s poetry has appeared most recently in Nine Mile, Laurel Review, and Figure 1, with work upcoming in I70 Review. She teaches high school English outside St. Louis, Missouri.