Seven Seconds

A leaf separates from a twig on a tree

tumbling for seven seconds

on a journey to the ground.


For seven seconds a pedestrian 

crosses a busy intersection

before a swarm of traffic invades.


A mother sparrow satisfies hunger

as she drops insects for seconds

into the gaping beaks of her young.


A concert master stands, baton poised,

head raised for large seconds 

before sweet sound spreads.


A pause stretches for seven seconds

before a first kiss

felt as far as the soles of eager feet.


With the fragrance of eucalyptus

passing through my window

seconds stroll lightly by

as a leaf quietly comes to rest.


-Marianne Brems


Marianne Brems is a long time writer of textbooks, but also loves to write whimsical poems. She has an MA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in several literary journals including The Pangolin Review, Armarolla, Foliate Oak, The Voice of Eve, La Scrittrice, and The Sunlight Press. She lives in Northern California.