Poetry by Vivenne Popperl
I’ll blame it on the wind1 the mistral that rushed over the Steppes cold and piercing, piled up in the Alps, poured down the Rhone Valley, surrounded and shook the old farm house on the hill, tested the blue shutters, worked them back and forth wood straining against metal locks. I’ll blame it on the sun that golden heat that touched all things revealed all flaws and quiet secret beauties. The warmth that sank through the branches of the old cherry tree and dropped over us as we sat around a stone table in the morning. I’ll blame it on the fresh baguette cracking as it gracefully surrendered to our thumbs’ soft pressure receiving the creamy goat cheese sliding off our knives and the shining gem of sweetly tart grape jelly glistening and floating on its slippery, yellow bed. I’ll blame them all for the urge to rise from my mattress on the red tiled floor in the early morning tiptoe barefoot down the still dark corridor push past the wooden door’s momentary catch on its flaking plaster frame slide into your bed as you held up the blanket letting me settle into its shadow over your body.
1Following Claudia F. Savage’s Bruising Continents, Part III, Thick in the Throat Honey, p. 37.
Vivienne Popperl lives in Portland, Oregon. She began writing poetry in 2010 as a counterpoint to her daily diet of legal writing. She studied with Kim Stafford and Claudia Savage. Her poetry has appeared in Rain Magazine’s 2018 edition and she is thrilled that a glimpse of her work will be published in the forthcoming edition of The Poeming Pigeon, a literary journal of poetry. She was honored to serve as a poetry co-editor for the Fall 2017 edition of VoiceCatcher,an online journal of women’s voices and vision.