Comment on this article

On Your Left
by Peggy Barnett
129 pages/45 poems
Clara Bear Publishing
Portland, Oregon
Purchase on ebay

About the Book:

On Your Left is a poetic memoir dwelling on the specifics of unending change.

Advance Praise:

As Peggy Barnett's lyric tale unfolds she weaves a tapestry with words
describing the situations she encounters in everyday life, as well as
reaching back into her childhood to pen her tongue-in-cheek witty,
quirky poems. Ms. Barnett was born with poetry in her soul.
‐Sharmagne Leland-St. John ‐ Native American Poet/Publisher

Peggy Barnett's poems will make you smile. They are marvelous
and ambitious delving into relationships, particularly family ones.
Her emergence as a Northwest poet with a New York accent is
leaving its mark which is a gift to all of us.
‐Nan Harry ‐ Northwestern Poet

Peggy Barnett has a unique style and voice. She is witty story
teller with a clear memory of time and place that puts her in a
class all her own here in the Northwest.
‐Terry Busch ‐ Northwestern Poet.

About the Author:

Peggy Barnett was born in Queens, New York. She worked as a professional
still-life photographer in Manhattan fo 40 years. She moved to Washington State
in 2006. Country life has given her time to contemplate the memories that have
formed the patterns of her life. She can be contacted at:
and her website can be viewed at:

From the Book:,

Her Silence
by Peggy Barnett

It is autumn
a time of dying and becoming cold.
Driving down Maltby Road
red and gold
leaves race toward me at warp speed.
The radio is off
windows closed
car inside silent.
I clear my throat
the sound startling me,
I drive on turning north.
I know that there are
so many miles between us
so many white dashes on the asphalt.
We are
by now
twenty-eight years apart.

I see you small
far away
as if looking through the small end of a telescope.
I see your dying face still alive
pale skin taut
silent as stone
blue eyes staring at the foot of the bed.
You don't look at me
never see me
as if I wasn't there
as if I had died before you.
Your mouth tightly shut
hard edged
never spoke again to me.
No sad good-bye smile for the invisible ghost unseen
always sitting by your side waiting.
Waiting for something other than the anger.

You left tight jawed
relentlessly unforgiving my inability to save you.
I was born to help you.
I was here all those years
to make you laugh.
Now I'm helpless.
Forgive me.
You loved me once.
I could see it in your eyes then.
Is it too much to ask,
for you to
say "I love you" before you go.

For four months I flit
around you
like a glass moth
looking for some warmth
a glimmer of light from your pale eyes staring
I bang my heart against the silence
until it shatters.
Shards of love
are swept under the bed
crunching underfoot when I go home each night

I sit for months
next to a mother that died
forty years before in those other flames

Gray ashes in the white bed



Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]