My first poetry publications of 2017! 
Kim D. Bailey, a 2017 Pushcart Prize Nominee, writes Women’s Fiction, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, a weekly column. Kim is a poetry editor for two journals. She is currently editing a third novel and does freelance editorial work. She’s published in several online literary journals and print magazines, podcasts, and has taught writing courses online. She currently lives in Fort Oglethorpe, GA with her partner and published poet, S. Liam Spradlin. You may connect with her at or Twitter @kimbaileydeal, Instagram @kimdbaileyauthor or her Facebook page

​ Serendipity



There will be time for sadness again,

to wring hands, wail at the half-moon,

gnash teeth and shake a fist

at God,

or whomever,

for the losses and pain,

but not today.


Grief will rest heavy upon

the chest and like a cat’s claws,

dig in for an extended stay

to mourn

or feel numb

to form a sinkhole in the heart,

but not today.


Another moment of rage will burn

hot white, red bloodletting knives will

be thrown from our lips and eyes

at someone,

or something,

for the wrongs not righted,

but not today.


Disappointment will drop by

unexpected and unwelcome, to remind

us that life is never fair

to us

or to those we love,

a reality check of ups and downs–

but not today.

On this day we will climb this tower

together, tethered only to one another, tied

by beats of our hearts, in sync

serendipitous and surreal,

and while we gaze above

the treetops from this place,

or at the clouds from this blanket

on the grass,

we fly,

our feet

never leaving the ground.




                                At Last, Arrival



The first Saturday in March

we met on the corner, Camp House

coffee for two,

a voice from my phone stated,

“You have arrived at your destination.”


I looked both ways before crossing

searching for a familiar face

booked for several months

kind eyes, hard to tell the color,

but they draw me close

and we collide.

All at once it’s clear

your face more familiar than I first

believed, your smile a caress and I let you

wrap me like a gift, as I fold up within your arms

as though my place had been saved


while our lives transpired, preparations

made, hearts broken

glued back together with grace

given to hope, in all hopelessness,

never give up

never say die

and when I look into

your eyes,

I know

that I know

that I know

I have arrived.








Are we comfortable, content, moving daily toward a dream—or complacent,

caught up in sad refrains, reaching but not rising, to meet one another 

watching the decay, hopeless? What would it take?

Teaching moments miss the mark, slide around us, leaving us lonely

 looking for a way out. Stifling fear and oppression fill the void once overflowing,

lingering love lost on echoes of egregious words, killing fields

 of kindness run with blood; broken hearts and dreams, derailed by deleterious

dogma, refusing any outsider purchase on this sacred

 ground. Blood, it’s all that matters, despite the vows or veneration whispered, wedded.

I tripped over my tongue and sprained my ankle aspiring for first place in your 

heart, I broke my own, shattered against the wall where blood begets bond

above all, so this is where I limp away.


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