Today's poem is by Jane O. Wayne
Toward Repose
Liquid, solid.
Given a choice wouldn't it be
rain streaming down
a car window, morning mist
gliding over streets and houses?
Lightning, too, or any
suddenness, a ballerina's leap,
a shooting starthe thrill
of faster and faster.
All the longingsshe hears them
clearly as that voice
she didn't follow
years ago, still calling her
into the winding tunnel
of that cave.
At times she reaches back
for wind in her face,
a park, the kite string tugging
in her hand again,
and that country road
in summergreen fields
and peach orchards, car windows
wide open. But now
in winter, she moves
from page to page,
lets the fire die down
in the living room, and gives
no argument. She knows
stasis will win
in the endthe spinning top
will topple, and she'll move
no farther than the rocking horse,
the room already
cold as the cup she drained.
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Copyright © 2017 Jane O. Wayne All rights reserved
from Cave Wall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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