Ingrid Bruck is wild flower gardener and a poet inspired by nature. She lives in Amish country in Pennsylvania. This site shocases selected works by her.

Otters Sleep Holding Hands & Aubade - Published by: Rat's Ass Review in Love & Ensuing Madness

Otters Sleep Holding Hands


Let us be otters that sleep holding hands.

Roped together, 

anchored on a life raft 

big enough for two, my honey,

we ride, slip and slide, 

cruise nights where dreams walk free

and nightmares skim off day’s grease.

Hearts pound like hooves on pavement,

we depend on the press

of each other’s warm body for comfort

and defense against inconsolable loss.

We sleep tethered holding hands,

unaware when passion turns to poison,

when jealousy tightens its grip to shackles,

and she consents to wear

the chastity belt of possession.






The first, I want

but without return.

For a dozen years, 

we play a frigid bitch game,

he yokes me with inadequacy,

I pull to redeem my sex. 

Ophelia without suicide,

I languish.

The second, I revolt.

We hit the bed and do

a quick flash burn

to crescendo and sleep.

Slam bam thank you, M’am,

he tells me

and it’s enough,

I am woman. 


The third, I knock on his door.

Come in, he says.

He is my aubade.


Until I turn thirty,

I think aubades

are fairytale lace

in romance novels. 

Not so.


Stars sprinkle through the window,

a new moon night

wraps us in velvet.

Content to light the darkness,

over and over we wake,

caresses follow blazes

then we doze

only to awaken in need.


We rise and fall 

hours slipping 

until the sky passes 

to muffled gray 

of cheesecloth and bird song.

From overhead, sharp honks echo,

a pair of geese head eastward

into the rising sun.


Dawn sings with birds and frogs,

crickets rub their wings in joy.

We part in white morning sun

mated for life. 



Date Published: June 11, 2016

Yellow and blue makes green & After the sky stops pouring - Published by: Quatrain.Fish

Berry Picking - Published by: Young Ravens Literary Review