At the Core and Other Poems

By Diane Sammet

At the Core

What if the sun believed she couldn’t?
That clouds were barriers.
What if the sun believed she failed
until all shadows burned—
their ashes blown away?

Would she keep on trying?
How?
No energy—no core.

Cold and dark
need new beliefs.
The moon was born for this.
He sees, reflects.
She learns her truth.
The galaxy expands.

The Landscape of the Unfinished Heart

The landscape of the unfinished heart,
snowcapped, jagged, rough,
slippery river rock,
ice melt cold,
racing to the sea,

stops by trillium and bluebells.
“Which way east?” she asks.
The answer blows, spring blizzard. 
A frozen bitter scrapes.

The landscape waits—snowed in.
What else can she do,
as the sound of distant surf,
a million grains of hope, 
keep atoms warm within?

The landscape of the unfinished heart
gives herself to time.
Edges rasp, erode, expose—
ashes from the stars.

Ice melts.
She’s free to go.
But now, her landscape’s level.
Can’t rush toward the sea.
Trillium and bluebells bloom,
turquoise, topaz, quartz.

Glacier made and clear. 
The landscape of the heart
looks up.
Connects to constellations.
The ages kiss her veins.

Marble Races

It started with the picture hanging on the wall. 
Tilted.
The nearby table too.
Then the books, not one straight. 
The windowsill—
a ramp for marble races. 
Nothing perfectly 90 degrees.
Nothing right- 
angled.

I screamed, “Fix it.” 
Then wondered why. 
Why is L perfection?
What’s wrong with X and V?
Are S and C and G 
somehow less than I?

R 
U 
O 
K

with this? 

Decision made.
More lean or curve—than don’t.

Perhaps it’s straight that needs adjustment.
L is hard to hold
onto—corners poke.

I slope, 
balloon, and billow,
envelop and enjoy

tilted pictures, 
crooked tables, 
angled books, 
and marble races
down my windowsill.

The Fool

The chameleon wraps around the vampire.
Unafraid, since her blood is not his type,
she knows he will not drink,
but if he does, he’ll spit it out.
Won’t take another sip.

The chameleon trusts her blood, but
the vampire grows more desperate.
Impulse for a pulse.
He teases with his tongue.

The chameleon wraps around the vampire.
He fools her.
Drinks her dry.

Fight or Flight or Freeze or

You can’t outrun attackers,
not when small and tasty.
You try to hide; it’s useless.
You run. They run faster.
You freeze. They only see you.
You fight. Ha ha, they laugh.

You have only one defense.
Allow yourself to grow.
Attackers cannot stop that,
and they know it.
Grow

deep within—your brain (get smart),
then grow a stronger heart.
Won’t need big boobs, big balls, big bills.
You’re bioluminescent.
You don’t know it yet.

Don’t stop there—keep growing,
past vengeance, blame, and bite;
past fear, and fair, and right.

Keep growing—make a pearl.
Luminescent layers, 
charity and grace 
asphyxiate
the torment.
Cultivate and polish 
your semiprecious gem.

Design, adorn, remember 
to grow,
to grow,
to grow.

Diane Lee Sammet was the first-place winner of the Writers Helping Writers Fight Club Story contest (2022) and has been published in AppleSeeds Magazine, Loch Raven Review, and The Phoenix. A graduate of the Rhode Island School of Design, Diane holds two master’s degrees from Columbia University and the University of Hartford. You can learn more at dianeleesammet.com.