By Lynda Madison
In this dark compartment where worry collects,
a wrapped cracker stales for lack of consumption,
clips wait to close chips, rubber bands to stretch,
flashlights not to light after waiting so long.
There’s even a candy cane many seasons old, scissors,
an opener to some old garage, and lids pried
from jars. In back, a cough drop, and a ball of string,
tightly wound, poised for its own undoing.
—
Lynda Madison is a clinical psychologist and avid outdoor adventurer who feels privileged to have hiked mountains throughout the world, experienced a wide range of cultures, and learned many individuals’ life stories. She writes in gratitude and awe. Lynda’s poems have been published by South Florida Poetry Journal, Plainsongs Poetry Journal, Corpus Callosum Press, Flying Ketchup Press, Third Wednesday Magazine, Nebraska Writers Guild, and others. She has won the Deane Wagner Poetry Contest, and the St Louis Writers Guild and National League of American Pen Women Short Story competitions. Lynda has authored eight books, published by Andrews-McMeel and American Girl.