Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde

THIS CANE

This cold, red metal
Cane is felt
Like icicles
Against my leg
I notice people
No longer say
That I look younger
Than my peers—
This cane has aged
Me more than gray
Around my face—
They look away
As if they’ll catch
My own MS
Or lose their youth
By walking slow
I know I won’t
Look back and moan
But still I can’t
Disown this plight
I fight to keep
My youth in tack
And yet accept
What may come back

* * *

A BRUISED REED

The man who walked
The streets of Galilee
Will cherish—not snap off
Your broken reed

He sees the things your closest
Friends don’t see—
Perceives the reasons
Hiding underneath

He’ll take the broken reed
And make it hollow
Clearing out the junk
The pain—the sorrow

Then give you back
A solid flute to play
Rich, quiet music
Sacrosanct and praised

Sienna Elizabeth Raimonde, has been writing poetry since she was a young girl. She was born and raised in Buffalo, New York, and after obtaining degrees in theology and psychology, she realized that poetry was where her heart belonged. She has had many of her poems published regionally as well as in various other states, and is a previous contributor to Wordgathering.