Imagine a day
without the sun.
Imagine a circus
Without any fun.
Imagine ice cream
At every meal.
Imagine scrapes
You can’t even feel.
Imagine a train
Without a track.
Imagine a cat
Whispering back.
Imagine seconds
Standing still,
Imagine Jack
Without a Jill.
Imagine me—
The oldest.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
Who am I?
I am me.
I can swing.
I climb trees.
 

Who are you?
You are new?
You can swing?
You climb, too?
 

Let’s go and swing!
Let’s climb a tree!
Let’s go together—
You and me.

 
© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

Sometimes late at night
I hear a train whistle,
Like a coyote howling  
At a moon too far to fetch.
I’ve never seen the tracks.
I’ve never seen the train.
Still I wonder who’s riding,
And if they’ll ever reach
What they’re wanting.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

S            The way I get from here to everywhere.           
C            Maybe sometimes it looks like I’m not getting anywhere.
H            Bridges between lines. Bridges all over the place.  
O            Doors. Sometimes they’re open. Sometimes they’re not.
O            My mouth, full of words and sounds.
    Do you want to hear them? All of them?
L            My foot. I’m leaving. Are you ready?
© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
P         a magnifying glass
           held up to
           anything
O         an open eye,
           a funnel conveying
           words
E         fingers grasping
           or letting go
T         a sheltering tree,
           a handle on a shaky train
R         a dance, a jig, one foot outstretched,
           ready for the next measure
Y         joy

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

The ants invaded Kindergarten
When we went out to play.
They ate our jelly crackers,
And they threw our plates away.
They sorted all the buttons
Into black and brown and not.
They must have moved the lizard
‘Cause he wasn’t in his spot.
They painted with the green,
But they seemed to use their feet. 
Then they used the toilet,
And they didn’t raise the seat.
We think they played pretend
‘Cause the hats were on the floor.
They used the wooden blocks
To make a village with a store. 
They changed the daily calendar.
Today’s now Saturday.
They pulled out all the alpha-books
And opened them to A.
They must have gotten tired
‘Cause when we came up the stairs
They all were sleeping soundly
In our cozy reading chairs.
The ants invaded Kindergarten
When we went out to play.
They seemed to have such fun,
We invited them to stay.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
Hyphae by TheAlphaWolf 2006 
Fingers poking through
the grass provide evidence
of the beast below,
a single fungal network
holding the earth together.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, 
all rights reserved
I know there are no wolves in these cold woods,
no bears, no foxes, no wolves, but I see
the hiding places, fallen trees, small mounds
of dirt, and branches just above my head.
I see the darkness here, but I can’t see
what’s hiding there. I hear the leaves erupt.
I know it is the sound of busy squirrels,
but still my heart suspects it might be wolves.
I’ve heard the stories about wolves and woods,
and children walking far from home alone,
the stories grown-ups told me before bed,
before they said the stories were not true.
I know there are no wolves in these cold woods,
But I am here, and I am full of thoughts.
© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
holding the creature
in his hand the boy feels
its eager heartbeat
just as others have grasped
his pulse in their larger hands

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

I hear iambic thumping in my head.

Each time I part my lips I feel some dread.

I wonder if the words that I will speak

Will make me sound like some obnoxious geek.

I cannot seem to quit, though it’s my hope

To speak in prose just like a normal dope.

Perhaps if I can hold my breath inside,

The hiccups in my words will soon subside.

I wonder if this happened to the bard.

He did it once and learned it wasn’t hard,

Then found he didn’t have the will to stop,

Despite his father’s shabby leather strop.

You say you have a great idea for me?

Something called a trochee?

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved