Pamela Gibbs works in information technology by day, writes poetry by night, and wrestles with a first novel on weekends.  She graduated from Morehead State University in 2010 with a major in English and a minor in Creative Writing.  A life-long Kentuckian, she currently resides in Lawrenceburg, but has lived all over Kentucky, including growing up as a Baptist preacher’s daughter in Hazard.   



The Hidden


The wind in my hair led to the pond where the tree
shadows rippled and disappeared under the bank,
and I followed to where the sky was green and
the trees were blue and the dark came with the morning,
and the light with your first sigh of night.

The trees shuddered in the wind, their branches
broken by summer ice, and the geese dropped
bread crumbs for the children while I wandered and
dreamt in the park until I returned for supper:
toasted bacon and fried bread and eggs.

You boiled the eggs soft, steaming, scooped
from the shell with a silver spoon into a clay bowl
sprinkled with salt and black pepper, and I drank
green tea poured from a copper kettle and
lingered as hidden words scalded my tongue.




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