Today's poem is by Laura Foley

Conjuration
       

Wearing deep-cleated snow shoes,
I climb the hill behind our house,

kept company by my loyal canines.
We admire the summit view, familiar peaks

made new by clouds of fresh snow,
then begin the long descent,

not steeply down, but through
the neighbor's welcoming snow-fields,

past shadowed pines, leafless maples,
oaks that hold their leaves like aces.

Alys waits for me, but Chloe runs off,
returns when called, then doesn't.

Alys and I trudge for miles as I call,
through empty fields and see:

no deer, no dog, not even a squirrel
for comfort, as the blizzard wind begins.

I nearly lose myself on a steep cliff—
slipping down through icy woods,

cleats clattering like a trolley off its rails.
At the bottom, still far from home,

I brush myself off,
hearing the storm's discord within,

my angry monologue at the dog—
then a purer note directing me:

Dear Spirit, I plead,
gesturing up through empty trees—

May she come safely home.
I conjure an image of her thick, healthy body,

loving face and then, at the next turn,
she bounds round the corner toward me.

Copyright © 2025 Laura Foley All rights reserved
from Sledding the Valley of the Shadow
Fernwood Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission