Coming Home


Bridal ghosts of cherry trees

welcome me home:

still, mute, white omens in thick night,


their laced branches held out

like an offering – a glimmer of serenity,

a brittle bridge leading me back


into a tunnel of trees that stretch eternally:

copper beaches, burning at sunset,

yews that darkly cover over graves,


a lilac opened up, at the border

of childhood, birch trees shedding

their soft skin, exposing their souls.



Rachel Carney is a book blogger at and has had poems published in The High Window Journal, The Open Mouse and Sarasvati Magazine. She also writes articles and reviews for various magazines and websites.