by Hazel Smith Hutchinson
midway through the coldest night
his face comes to me
his journey carved deep
his eyes like stoned jewels
between each broken syllable
rock-solid words melt and
let bleed his salted voice:
I’m sorry
Born and raised in Maine, Hazel Smith Hutchinson now enjoys the empty nest with her husband in the openness of Kansas. She has a great appreciation for life, solitude and dreams. Hazel Smith Hutchinson has been published in The Mid-America Poetry Review, The Flint Hills Review, and on-line at Intercultural@Platform, and PW Review.