Small Blessings

Shoelaces strewn on
sidewalk? No, its just earthworms
drowned in April rain.

At least you’ve got your
hair, she tells me, as we think
of small blessings.

Within the yellow sway
of the Japanese rose bush,
finches feed their young.

Under the couch cushion
I find the miniature teapot
your dolls once drank from.

On her thin white hand,
the lifeline’s cracked like a shell.
A razor blade’s ghost.

Gray cat with yellow bird–
sunlit wing still hanging
from his mouth.


Skaidrite Stelzer


Skaidrite Stelzer lives and writes in Toledo, Ohio. Growing up as a post-war refugee and displaced person, she feels connected to the world and other stray planets. Her poetry has been published in Fourth River, Eclipse, Glass, Baltimore Review, Flock, Storm Cellar, and many other literary journals.

© 2019