Good News! Julie’s second collection of poems, Wing Over Wing, has been accepted for publication by Paraclete Press. It includes over sixty poems, many of which are featured on this page! Three poems have been published recently and will be in Wing Over Wing. Route 100, In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being, and Mallards are below — enjoy!

Julie Cadwallader Staub lives near Burlington, Vermont. Her poems have been featured on Garrison Keillor’s The Writer’s Almanac, published in journals, and included in anthologies.  She was awarded a Vermont Council on the Arts grant for poetry in 2001. Her poem Reverence was anthologized in Garrison Keillor’s book Good Poems: American Places.  Her poem Milk won the 2015 Ruth Stone prize from Hunger Mountain Review, at http://hungermtn.org/news/.

Her first collection of poems, Face to Face, was published by Cascadia Publishing House in June 2010. Read reviews at Amazon.com and add your own! You can purchase Face to Face on either Cascadia’s website or Amazon. In Burlington, VT you can find it at Phoenix Bookstore.  Joy and Guinea Pig –along with sixty other poems– are in this collection. You can hear Garrison Keillor read them on The Writer’s Almanac, by clicking on “listen” on the right, under Navigation.

 

Route 100

By Julie Cadwallader Staub

Somewhere south of Center Fayston,
Route 100 drops
between steeply forested hills,
their luscious greens already curling
into gold and crimson.

Mine is the only car
on this pocket of a road
and I am suspended
in September’s colors,
mesmerized by autumn’s
clear and changing light.

I barely register
the dead skunk in the road ahead
before that solemn, conclusive thump
under my left front tire

and now that sharp scent
punctuates my every breath
with its tang of wildness,
its slap of mortality.

 

In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being

By Julie Cadwallader Staub

It’s October
Snow geese fly far above the trees in sleek silence.
Canada geese circle noisily above the stubby cornfield.
White pines drop their needles through the clear air
transforming the forest floor into a golden carpet
between one day and the next.

And beneath all that motion lies
mile after mile of aquifer,
acre after acre of unmoving rock
sturdy enough to support this forest
but porous enough that water seeps, squeezes,
filters its way
pore by careful pore.

And who can say which is more amazing
the golden needles
the clear air
those soundless snow geese

or the idea of rock so immense
it upholds this paradise
and so permeable
each drop can find its own way.

 

Mallards

By Julie Cadwallader Staub

The momma mallard knows as well as anyone
the slicing teeth of the northern pike,
the viselike grip of the snapping turtle,
the deadly silence of the mink.

Yet she waddles from the bank, sinks happily into the water
and nine ducklings tumble in after her
—those perky puffs of delight—
scooting forward and back around their mother.

There are thousands of ways to step out in faith
and surely this is one of them
to venture into this world
of viciousness and tenderness.

Though we remember the times
the snapping turtle rose from the bottomlands,
though we are still lost in a lake of emptiness
trying to capture ripples,

yet, like the mallard,
we amble out of our nests
into the day
expecting our precious children to do the same

to venture forth
counting on tenderness

knowing in our bones
that none of us, not one,
was born to stay on land.

© 2010 Julie Cadwallader Staub. All Rights Reserved.
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