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Nathan L. Senter

Nathan L. Senter

Writing to quiet the voices. To empty the gut. To impart that which may illuminate.

Chickadee

2 min readJan 17, 2025
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Photo by Bonnie Kittle on Unsplash

I followed you around the stakes
and braided wire
your tiny boots
roostered snow
up the back of your pants.
Muffled ears as wind
skirts the tree line
drowning out all sound.

Swishy nylon
pupils strain
sun against white
as we make the property line.
Your property majestic
in winter peace.
Peppermint horses
clomp by curly coat sheen.

Pockets full of seed
wading into the park
losing the last of the photogs
sharp left to a tiny bridge.
Water licking through
the snow.
Hold out your hand.
Chickadee flits and lands.

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Flits and flits.
Dead leaves sleigh bell
in the breeze.
Metronomic bliss.
Rustling as a titmouse
bobs and sorts and skitters.
I can see your eyes
through the lenses of your sunnies.

I catch you looking as
you catch me looking
as
I notice the way
your eyes crow when you smile.
Stretches of silence
bring warmth
defenses fall.

You sit tall in the cab
as you reminisce about
afternoons on the ice
with your father.
There’s a future
where traditions
get passed on
when it’s safe.

Time stops and swells
speeds as you lay
against me.
Through the slider
clouds sprint
across the blue.
Limbs devour limbs
holding off sleep.

Brief but beautiful day.
Glimpse into what may be.
Strangers who haven’t closed off
a new future.
Decisions to be made.
Ruddy melting road
jostles as I slip
onto the highway.

Standing at the edge
holding hearts
in both hands.
Dead womb canyon
swallowing hope
below.
I press my chin to the sky.
It will last or it won’t.

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Nathan L. Senter
Nathan L. Senter

Written by Nathan L. Senter

Writing to quiet the voices. To empty the gut. To impart that which may illuminate.