Julie Shulman


Good Friday

While we are waiting, an army of blossoms is gathering
on the far slope of the hillside. The asters and the milkweed rise
stealthily among the grasses but they announce themselves
with bursting beauty only when the time is right.

We are waiting still while each of the potential fires is deciding
whether or not to set itself alight. The arsonists
and the lightning strikes and the tinderboxes work
with silent determination but what matters mostly, is whether the wood is dry.

We are waiting for Spring. For salvation.
To feel like we belong here, that we were made for this
For what happens after the blooms and the blazes.
Our everyday lives are waiting for us too, just ahead but out of sight.




wild thing

i hope more than anything
that ends up being true
i am a remnant of a wild thing
as much i am anything

otherwise why do i love best
the rough velvety scent
of dirt and geranium
in morning breezes

otherwise why do i run
through the shaded woods
of the wild forests
when i want to feel free

otherwise why do i forage
like a scavenger for beauty
through the light and darkness
of the day

world full of wild things
tell me can you see
a fragment of your wildness
also in me?


mother tongue

What is the crow asking
so loudly of the morning?
and does the wind call to you too
in the rustle of the leaves?
can you hear how the waves announce
themselves endlessly anew to the shore?

like a lost mother tongue
the sunset sings to you of its love,
and the world cradles
you like a precious thing.
still we can hardly make out the meaning
i’m sure i’ve never understood the words.





Julie is an award-winning graphic designer and art director who has recently begun exploring the practice of writing poetry. She lives in a very old house outside of Boston that is the subject of comically serial renovations, alongside her husband, trusty rescue pup, and three ever-inventive and active boys.