Ginny Short
I find myself unable to move Body-prisoned In the place flowing Underneath the stream of sleep I dream or think or mumble “I am wounded,” speaking From the darkness of my throat I try to spread my wings But my fingers won’t winkle and turn In the dawn And my toes are lead sinks Tying me to the earth I try I try I try to fly But my body screams “I am wounded.” On the other side of pain Are dreams of flight Stumbling onto the daystar I have one foot One broken wing following steps towards That dream of wings. — When Ginny is not examining flowers with a close-up lens, or watching how the scales on a lizard’s back glint in the sun she can usually be found writing. She has been published in many venues. Writing has always been her salvation, and is a passion that comes from her love of the natural world. A biologist working in the Colorado desert, she has this crazy idea that something can be done to save the world. So, she tries. She loves reading, writing, digital art and playing with her abundant menagerie, all of whom are rescue animals. She can be found at www.ginnyshort.com.