Lovelorn Poet in Anchorage, AK: Uniting

Lovelorn Poets forgotten stairs

Forgotten Stairs by Laura Zurowski

Missed Connections from Anchorage

A warmth breeze of summer’s air enters into my open window
Emerge still images of you which leave me in a serene state
No matter the passing of days, years, or season
The fact remains these thoughts have never seized nor departed,
Along with the love I have for you unlocking each day inside this beating heart.
I think our past has benefited our growth, mere reflection of a flower wanting to blossom,
Removing unnecessary weeds and collected debris, which have disguised us
In order to see today our budding beauty, standing firm on earthly ground, with our love on this day.


Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents
My living room has a row of windows looking down over a sloping hillside of trees. Sometimes I like to stand in front of the window closest to the front door and stare outside at the shades of green. Morning brings birds, night is for stray cats, and groundhogs make the circuit regardless of time. Despite their proclivity for vegetable gardens and fallen fruit, I can’t seem to entice a single groundhog to eat any of the weedy growth encircling the house. Years and years of neglect have rendered my land a jungle and every early evening I venture out with gloves, choppers, and giant paper sacks provided by the Department of Sanitation designated for “yard waste.” Well, almost every night. Some nights I settle on the couch by the windows and ignore the creeping ocean of green around me. Rolling back time and vegetation is a weighty task – not just because of the physical labor, the scrapes and bug bites, but because of what is revealed after the cover is removed. Cigarette butts, bulbs of flowers long dormant, ineffective scraps of black plastic ground sheeting, and nails. My yard is full of nails. Giant nails thick as my finger and longer than my hand. The nails remind me of Jesus crucified on the cross and I wonder why there are so many of them buried in the dirt. I think about these mysteries hidden in the dirt and I wonder what this home looked like in 1963 when it was fresh and new. I think about what this home will look like next week, next month, next year… Beauty will come, beauty is here now, today.