Marsha Hollingsworth 

Confidence

Confidence has worn to translucent skin,
beneath which the inner workings
are on open display

look closely

the gears don’t quite fit together,
resulting in uneven wear
and inconsistent operation.

Alone

Down the hall
the Petri dish laundry
room cultures mildew
in the moist folds
of sheets and tee shirts

blond dog hair
forms a second carpet
over the existing one
and spattered coffee paints
the kitchen tile mocha.

There is always the question
of dinner, that mindless
repetition, seven days a week
what to make, what to make?
and the dishwasher calls,
needs emptying and feeding.

Sometimes I am dizzy
from this endless routine
and I want to be alone,
not just for an hour or two,

those thin wafers of peace
that dissolve too quickly
on the tongue, dissipating
with the next interruption.

Marsha Hollingsworth 

Revolving Art Gallery

I am very happy to bring the art of Marsha Hollingsworth to Water Line's art gallery. Marsha was the artist featured in the first book, Movements, published by Water Line Press in 2003. Her striking sumi ink paintings were a perfect fit for the poems, lending depth and beauty to the hand sewn limited edition. Did I forget to mention she is also the talented bookbinder I work with on all of my projects? I admire her for keeping the ancient art of hand sewing and case binding books alive and lovely. She is also a generous and wonderful person.

As with all content displayed here, I ask you to respect copyrights and not reproduce any work without permission of the artist.

Choice

This brilliant morning
anything is possible

we are limited
only by rigid minds
whose fragile confines

can be vaporized
by choice alone.

By Monika Bartsch 

Revolving Art Gallery

Please welcome artist Monika Bartsch to Water Line's Revolving Art Gallery. Monika loves to paint and has spent several years taking as many classes as she can to learn more. She also happens to be my mother-in-law and one of the sweetest people I know. Enjoy!

Ambient Light

Nightfall in Bryce Canyon
unveils a 7.3 magnitude sky,
darker than anywhere
else in North America.

From here,
we gaze millions of light years
into the past.

We memorize the Milky Way, imprint
its studded arc on translucent lids,
capture night behind our veiled eyes.

In Zion, beneath red walls
rising sheer from the river bed,
the Virgin endlessly
tends the stone.

She has molded an oasis
attracting wildlife, songbirds
and millions of tourists
who recreate the very city
we are trying to leave behind.

We trade free dominion to preserve
the canyon, herd onto a shuttle bound
for The Temple of Sinawava,
where we slowly disembark
and shuffle the trail to the Narrows

behind the crowd we rode in with.

When we were young,
we drenched our feet here,
felt small and sacred beneath
these cathedral walls.