Two Poems by Beth Paulson

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Red Fox

A blaze of gold
            more than red
in early evening light,
            you strode slow through snow-
dusted new grass skirting
            a low hill behind the house.
Then black ears pointed up, you sensed
            my presence on the porch
and turned your sleek head, sharp nose,
            toward me quick-
flashing black bead eyes.

How you lit up
            the dull afternoon
with your confidence
            and bravado

and in that moment gave me
            a grim hint of your intent
before you trod soundless
            to the forest edge
where the lesser creatures live.

Bright hunter—
            what more do I have
to fear or desire?




At day’s end along the dusty path
I saw them, pale-pink votives glowing
              in the gravelly stone
              on the brown bank
              up from the clamoring river.

They were evening primroses
              sprung from gray-green, leathery leaves
              unfolding their silken petals, opening up
              to bright stamen centers.
They were the only blooming in that dark place.

I believe there are people like that, too,
              who cling to what’s in this world
              such as the poor person who offers
              the stranger bread or a song.




Beth PaulsonBeth Paulson lives in southwestern Colorado where she leads the Poetica Workshop and co-directs the Open Bard Literary Series. Her poems have been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and her fifth collection is Immensity (Kelsay Books, 2016).

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