Seven Sisters

by | May 17, 2017 | Poetry

with a line from Li-Young Lee

What are mountains
but lichen-backed
rocks, crevassed blue
flocks? I made

it back to you,
howling pack, flat
capped jacks, thrust
up bottle caps,

blades. Come, smooth
others, rough sisters;
like a jay cranes
his beak to the tree line,

I’m farther in than
I’ve ever been. In the fog,
a stand of pines—
mulched sculptures

divined on their sides.
This scream at your crags
divides to a track,
a seam I itch

to rumble through;
lead seven, you pull
the blue, mouth
the breeze, grab me.

Listen to this poem:

(previously published in Sugar House Review)

Photo by David Olimpio

About The Author


Sandra Marchetti is the author of Confluence, a full-length collection of poetry from Sundress Publications (2015). She is also the author of four chapbooks of poetry and lyric essays, including Sight Lines (Speaking of Marvels Press, 2016), Heart Radicals (ELJ Editions, 2016), A Detail in the Landscape (Eating Dog Press, 2014), and The Canopy (MWC Press, 2012). Sandra’s poetry appears widely in Poet Lore, Blackbird, Subtropics, Ecotone, Southwest Review, and elsewhere. Her essays can be found at The Rumpus, Words Without Borders, Mid-American Review, Barrelhouse, and other venues. Sandy earned an MFA in Creative Writing—Poetry from George Mason University and lives in the Chicagoland area.