In the aftermath it all
takes shape again,
the memory of where I am
drifts into a place I once was.
A tilted house
unmoored yet anchored in this
natural world,
juxtaposed with a vision of home—
a hands-breadth out of reach of real.
Shadow and damp wood make breathing
just a little cool, a little bit of
shiver sliding across squares
of battered bottle-green linoleum,
a pattern she picked out in
hopeful sunlight.
Oh how far the current took us,
from earth to sea and back
to land again—
yet changed as one is
are we released or abandoned?
Upon the cusp of something
new and secret built inside
the ruins of another civilization,
covering the past with layered stones—
A bridge, a wall, a foundation,
key and corner,
stepping beyond the origin
though still story.
The breeze is mud and salt,
alder in full leaf,
and I am not supposed to be here.
Tied to present/tasked with past,
across the causeway with my recollection
in shuttered safety,
with my fingers dipped in
danger’s lilting sound, too far
beyond what I know
to find comfort in the familiar,
even now.
— & —
Lara Niedermeyer writes to savor and connect. Growing up in Port Townsend, Washington, she was surrounded by art in all its forms and the wild coast of the Pacific. This foundational experience and landscape continue to shape her creative choices. Raised on the poems of Carol Lynn Pearson, she revels in poetry which is both mystical and plain-spoken. Joining the journal Segullah in 2009, she previously served as Poetry Editor and on the Poetry Board and now wears the Editor-in-Chief hat. Her poems have been published in the anthology “Seasons of Change,” Segullah, and read aloud for the “Words Fall In” podcast. She was a finalist in both Mormon Lit Blitz 2024 contests and won the first place Audience Choice Award in the 2024 Holiday Lit Blitz. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, where she rents vintage dishes for events, and regularly teaches writing workshops.
