A.J. Huffman – Four Poems

Woman Walking

I am a reflection
of the reflection
of the cliff
wishing it could dive
into the sea.

I long to break
the stilled surface
as if it were glass.
As if I were glass.

Instead, I leave
only footprints as proof
I am something
more than a ghost
of myself.

I know the water
will swallow these scars slowly
as I fade
into the horizon.

I Laugh with Snakes

Chasing them as they chase me,
we dive into shadows and years,
speaking (in forked and foreign tongues)
of everything and nothing. We relive
memories like wild edges, cut ourselves
in our struggle to breathe. We do not miss our arms,
yet the knowledge of absence causes panic
all the same.

From the Forest Floor

the world appears to be made of midnight
giants and electric eyes. The black
bark of arms arch in barren embrace.
It should be cold in this vision,
but perspective is swayed by the silver
refraction of alien stars, pulsing with promise
of additional life. I find myself beginning
to dissolve into puddles of possibility,
close my eyes in preparation
to rain in reverse.
My pieces are determined
to become part of the sky.

Spring Words to Thaw a Fall’s Heart

Breath of sun alights, blinds
as it slips into cloakings,
browning leaves that relinquish
the past. This year will be
free, a bottomless sky dispossessed
of sleep. Listen. You will hear
the dandelions whisper, “It is time
to let go of all things resembling snow.”


Author’s Statement on Beauty

Beauty is an internal digestion of one’s visual surroundings. It is both intangible and ephemeral, but more importantly it is defining because beauty is what we strive for and what drives us to continue to be more than what we already are.


A.J. Huffman’s poetry, fiction, haiku, and photography have appeared in national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press:  www.kindofahurricanepress.com