Impressions by Marilee Pritchard


A woman dividing her thighs, pushing with all her power
the comfort of arms, first burst of light.

Scent of dill wafting through a yard,
the tickle of a blade of tall grass,
a place I visit, my mother calls home.

Pumping water from a spigot in the park,
licking raindrops off the patio door.

Buck teeth, raisins for tits,
the penance of scrubbing with oatmeal soap.

The clarity of my harpsichord on a humid day
articulating the counterpoint dancing through a fugue.

The rough of your beard scraping
the gentle of my back.

Madame Butterfly’s soaring soprano
never making you wait..

A Door County sunset
eclipsing Gil’s Rock Harbor.

sloping through a trajectory,
color pops—hurling splats of paint across dull of white.
Georges Seurat
a stroll in the park.


Marilee Pritchard has lived in the Chicago area all her life.
She has dual degrees in English and Nursing and worked a boring government job by day, so she could write poetry at night. Currently, she has 2 poems coming out in After Hours this summer.

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