writing – Press Send Poetry

Silver Linings

Pandemic furlough –

My Walden pond.

A chance to sit quiet

On a snowy couch

With Sandburg and

Whitman, and my great-

Grandmother who,

With silver thread,

Ties the past to my

Future roads. How

She loved Frost asking:

Which one will you

Take?

creation is not a quiet stuttering dance

I never thought of you.

I never imagined it. And I always thought you could create a life
Like you construct yourself,
In the dark, with your hands in the air of a dream.

But no. When it snows and is silent, bones are ancient with
truth like skies so cold all of us reaching our hands up in the dark
shudder in realization:
creation is not a quiet stuttering dance.
It is our stars bent on self-destruction, it is anything but a dream.