Poetry
A Liminal Space
by Kristin Roedell
(for Piper: 2013-2022)
The new day was never enough,
though out my morning window
sheep grazed in the tall grass,
their legs lost in the low mist,
and the sunrise poured rich
and rare over the tree line.
I grieved endlessly,
until you brought me a lamb
so new its wool was damp;
when you laid it on my lap
I fell in love, deep
as a stone dropped in a well.
Warming its milk in the dark,
I learned to welcome my solitary
nights. The stars would fill
the kitchen window and flood the sink;
the moon plunged after the planets
and floated on the surface.
When the lamb came into
my arms, it was as if a dove
flew into my hand. I dreamed
I became a songbird,
and surrendered to joy.
This is Grace, I sang.
This is why the sun,
and how the moon,
whenever mist lies low
in the pasture.
About the Poet
Kristin Roedell graduated from Whitman College (B.A. English 1984) and the University of Washington Law School (J.D. 1987). She practiced family law for 10 years in the Pacific Northwest. Her poetry has been published The Journal of the American Medical Association, Switched on Gutenberg, Sierra Nevada Review, and Amoskeag. She is the author of two chapbooks (Girls with Gardenias, Flutter Press; Night Circus, Legal Studies Forum), as well as a full length poetry collection (Downriver, Aldrich Press, 2015.) She served as the poetry editor for VoiceCatcher journal in 2022, and has been twice nominated for both Best of the Web and the Pushcart Prize. Her work has appeared in over sixty journals since 2005. Visit her online at http://kristinroedell.wikidot.com/.
 The new day was never enough, though out my morning window sheep grazed in the tall grass, their legs lost in the low mist, and the sunrise poured rich and rare over the tree line. I grieved endlessly, until you brought me a lamb so new its wool was […])
