October 18, 2014


Heather Rose lives in a small mountain town in Colorado with her three kids and guitar-playing husband.  She collects lots of little thoughts about living in a big world in her blog WORDS WHITTLE DOWN and is currently writing and illustrating a children's fantasy series called Knindrome.

 Featured Poems:  Rumors, Treasure Hunting, The Voice Of Should


Rustling outside my opened window
are rumors from another world.
I wake in the night trying to make
sense of what I strain to hear in darkness.

I suppose this time its deer that visit
Here under our oak trees looking
For acorns.  But I’ve discovered
This hour echoes through me, hollow.  

The deep breathing of the man I love
Next to me.  The children half sighing
In their sleep.  My own thoughts
Crank up, generating noise.  Shush,
© Heather Rose
I say, I’m trying to listen.

Here I am housed in my own skin.
These walls are almost thin enough to hear
You speak over distraction.  There are too
Few windows opened in the night.  

The length of my thigh fits flush against his side.  
I feel his pulse, the house of his heart, as he sleeps.
I don’t want to wake him.  Now is
The time for dreaming.

I dream awake.  I wonder how many
Worlds come so near as my bedroom
Window with only a mesh screen to
Separate me from new wonder. 

The Voice of Should

The voice of Should has no face
But its lineage I can trace
In every vow I ever made
so I would never hurt again.

The voice of Should cracks open doors
Where dog-eared shame comes slinking in
And steals from me my own content
And lets me gnaw the bone of blame.

Good and good enough
Defined by who?
Wants to name me in the name of Should.

The voice of Should is silenced by
The whisper of a stronger name
And when I live according to
Deliberate listening, Love would lead me
To freely living.

Treasure Hunting

In amber light of Autumn’s dawn
When rust’s colors creep into trees
When shadows lean long across the lawn
When copper keeps the brittle leaves
I go treasure hunting.

I look for gold high in the hills.
I mine silver that lines the clouds.
Framed works of art in window sills
Or framed in words I dream aloud.
I am treasure hunting.

Green gives itself to brown
In a time of copper, gold and rust.
Though everything is falling down
Though everything will turn to dust
I am treasure hunting.

What of myself will fade away?
What will scatter in the breeze?
Like the glory of the day
What will be left when my light leaves?
I go treasure hunting.

Eternal things can’t dim or gray
They are held inside the heart.
Love’s gifts are stored away
The whole is hid within the part.
I am treasure hunting.

~Heather Rose

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