“Turkeys” by Barbara Lange

2014 Salveson Prize in Poetry

I saw five wild

turkeys in a frozen field,

scratching icy clods of dirt,

meandering through broken

stalks of last season’s corn. Unaware

of our passing, unperturbed

by the highway

or us, riding in silence.

The only sound between us

the rhythm of the tires on the road.

You, driving stiff and silent. Your face

hard as the unyielding ground

they just kept scratching. Me,

forehead against frigid window,

looking out, wishing I could join them,

trade our icy silence for

the warmth of winter sun

on frozen clods and broken stalks.

“Reasons Why I Love My Mother” by Marisa Donnelly

2013 Salveson Prize in Poetry

I am

not what you say

though my scrambled eggs

are always runny,

corners of wheat toast brown,

Purple and yellow

are complimentary colors—

I forgot this

just as I failed to remember

it was cranberry you wanted

not orange juice.

Our front staircase

now holds carpet casualties—

spilled egg,

shards of the kitchen china,

small pieces: gold, red, blue.

You woke, sitting up on your hands

commotion called you from sleep

my failed attempt

of breakfast in bed.

I am not a disappointment—

ribbons, balloons, streamers

handwritten notes on napkins

paper signs happy mother’s day

Forgiveness speaks loudest

in our shared fork,

two lip prints on the orange juice glass.