LouAnn Shepard Muhm

2007 Creekwalker Poetry Prize Finalist

LouAnn Shepard Muhm is a poet and teacher from northern Minnesota.  Her poems have appeared in a number of literary journals, including Dust & Fire, The Talking Stick, North Coast Review, Alba, Red River Review, Eclectica, Poems Niederngasse, and CALYX, and she was a finalist for the Creekwalker Poetry Prize (2007) and the Late Blooms Postcard Series (2007). Muhm was the featured poet in the Minnesota State Arts Board’s “What Light” series in February and June, 2008 and was a recipient of the Minnesota State Arts Board Artist Initiative Grant in Poetry in 2006 and 2012.  She has received multiple grants from Region 2 Arts Council.  Her chapbook, Dear Immovable, was published in 2006 by Pudding House Press, and her full-length poetry collection Breaking the Glass ( 2008, Loonfeather Press) was a finalist for the Midwest Book Award in two categories: Poetry and Cover Design. Muhm will finish a Master of Fine Arts degree in Poetry from Sierra Nevada College in August, 2016.

Web:  LouAnn Shepard Muhm

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OFFERING

We shy away,
Deer in the ditch,
white tails arcing
the passing numen,
leaping away
from bright lights
and broad wheels.

Or maybe we stay quiet,
heads down,
grazing,
ignoring that flash
that has passed us by
before.

Some will stand frozen,
make a wrong step,
then, nicked and limping,
bleed into the woods.

But sometimes there is one
who runs headlong
to the road,
sacrificing everything
to get behind
that glass.

Note: This poem appeared previously in North Coast Review


SHOVELING OUT

You've stayed away from the windows
unwilling to look at the yard
full of unfinished chores
and death
and then, overnight,
the snow,
a foot or more
a gift, a day
maybe two if you're lucky,
of clean white forgetting
until the mailman leaves you a note,
a reminder
that beauty is treacherous.
It is not until
you get out in it
and dig
pain singing
in every muscle
that you realize
the terrible weight.



TURBINE

The invisible moves
through outstretched arms
spinning power
we harness and spend
forgetting
we were made
for flight.



PAVLOVIAN

The bowl remains empty
but your voice still rings
just the same.



RESPITE 

Loading the car for camping,
my stomach hollow
with joy and apprehension,
I knew
that if only I endured
for a few more hours
your crocodile rage
at our late departure,
the quantity of our equipment,
the age and condition of our care,
the weather, slow drivers, lost tent poles
and the general state of our being,
eventually
the constant hum of your anger
would be drowned out
by the crickets
and the wind
and for that one moment
you would be part of the circle,
not the fire
at its center.

Note: This poem appeared previously in The Talking Stick


© Copyright LouAnn Shepard Muhm.  All Rights Reserved.

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Last updated April 23, 2017