Done, Undone: two poems by Michelle Shelfer
- Apr 29
- 1 min read

Swainson’s Thrush
Your first rolling warble is followed by a
gentler twin, then ascends a younger pair
such that you carry your echoes with you,
wrapping yourself ever in cathedral.
Your space at dawn and dusk brings me
round the years of Mays in waiting.
The song sparrow scribbles
lines flat on the page.
And the crow scratches with rough
chalk against gravel.
But this liturgy—you are the architect
within earshot who calls me to enter
your shelter of green-templed touch—
or better,
to make of myself a whistling hollow.
*
Done, Undone
Unclicking the buckle,
the two sides pull apart,
falling away but still
in a strain of nearness,
then less near—
a fading hover.
Now not so inclined to hold on
but more to turn and lean away
into distinct districts
with diminishing common points.
The majestic letting go
exactly as they were made to do
from the very moment one first split
as cells inside the other.
Yet somewhere far at the back of things,
they are of a piece, ever one.
__________________________
Michelle Shelfer, alongside her husband, Jerry, operates a non-profit called Prepare
a Room Ministries, which seeks to help those hurt by abortion and the culture of death
and to disciple the next generation to embrace life and the Giver of life. Her poetry has been published in Ekstasis, Foreshadow Magazine, Penwood Review, and Solid Food Press. She can be found at michelleshelfer.substack.com/
(April 2026 issue)




Comments