Valley Forge by Norma DaCrema

When you drive up the hill at 3 am,
there are no grazing deer,
no sleek foxes streaking
through the underbrush,
no possums emboldened by the dark,
no groundhogs, skunks, no squirrels.
There are only eyes,
little flames of orange and red
like amber gemstones
set in a swirling blue-black cape
or strewn among the tail feathers
of a peacock impossibly vast and
sumptuously studded with eyes.
Hundreds of eyes.



Norma DaCrema is a veteran high-school teacher of Religion and English at an independent girls' school in Pennsylvania. A first-year student in Arcadia's low-residency MFA program in Creative Writing, she has published in The Lyric and SkyWave magazine. She lives in Rosemont with her son and four cats, including Bad Randy.