Don't Waste Sorrow

​—Harry Emerson Fosdick

by Lana Hechtman Ayers

Long winter. How my life unfolds. In light that often defies warmth. Rarely golden. More so, the softer gray of ash that merely implies warmth. Or destruction of burning taken too far. Or the charcoal gray sky of imminent storm. And I have celebrated the rains no matter how much they pummeled the landscape. For every drop of water, I understood, was a part of everything that lived and grew. No matter how parched. Or for how long. No matter how drenched. Until the winds calmed. Oh, and the snow, the snow, white as pages upon which all poetry becomes possible. 

          all winter long
          sky full of muffled bells
          clang inside me

---

Lana Hechtman Ayers shepherded over 150 poetry collections into print in her role as managing editor for three small presses. She runs several Zoom poetry reading series and leads generative writing groups online. Lana lives in Oregon on the unceded lands of the Yaqo’n people, where on clear, quiet nights she can hear the Pacific ocean whispering to the moon. 

Read More