Hell, frozen over, erupted
The world almost ended again
Fire and ice became ash and flood
and stranded us in Paris
It's one cold spring in Paris
New yellow leaves barely fan to green
Each patch of grass sprouts
oblivious kissing couples
SoCal's amber light, gauzy air trailed us
A volcano's lush black billow
Chased us to Paris, and when we landed
Word sifted down from on high:
We're stranded.
Author's note: Karen Greenbaum-Maya . . . was supposed to go home Tuesday. She is typing this on q French keyboqrd.
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Karen Greenbaum-Maya is a clinical psychologist in private practice in Claremont , California . In another life, she majored in German Lit so she could read poetry for credit, before making the seamless segue into psychology. Her poems and photos have appeared in O Tempora!, Superficial Flesh, Still Crazy, NewVerseNews, The Dirty Napkin, Umbrella Journal and Lilliput Review. A poem of hers was nominated for the 2010 Pushcart Prize.
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