Changes/ poem by Shaun Pankoski

Changes

It’s raining again
after many days
of October heat
sent the puakenikeni
into a second bloom.

On the trail I walk,
the littering of leaves
that only last week
crackled dry and musky
under my feet

are now wet and mulchy
and dreaming of spring.
In the darkening hours,
I find myself scouring
images on the internet,

tracing the scar lines
in the pictures I find,
imagining those same lines
traced above the border
of my own rib cage.

Tonight, the moon hid,
red and secretive,
but not for very long.
I watched as she emerged,
silvery and triumphant.

/////

Shaun Pankoski is a frequent contributor to Lightwood. Read more poems by scrolling to our Search Button and inserting Shaun’s name and click.

Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two-time breast cancer survivor, she has been an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared here and in Jackdaw Review, Quartet, Gargoyle, Thimble, and MockingHeart Review, among others. She was selected as a finalist by Lefty Blondie Press for her chapbook manuscript, Tipping the Maids in Chocolate: Observations of Japan and as a first runner up for her poem, Lupine, in their 2025 Editor’s Choice Broadsides Series.

Leave a comment