Where Sky is What Peace Looks Like

Flatten a spot in the meadow grass

Lie on your back, your knees hunched up,

There where no one can find you.

The walls made of hollow

Aging orchard grass, timothy, and smooth brome

Reed canarygrass, soft from the sun

Bearing down on it through July, August,

September.  Long enough the buzz of insects

Has become the sound of hot outside.

The sky above your hiding spot

More than window or door, expanding

Past the frame of your eyes

As big as your conception of soul

Creator, illumination means the white blurry swing

From horizon to blue horizon, from a jet’s trail

A few hours past. As I was a complicated child

The simplicity of what I saw irritated me,

I couldn’t know I would retrieve it so often

So many years gone by, in an effort to find

A vision, to describe the things worth writing about:

My children, my husband, my sense of worth,

The things I bind on a daily basis, be it my passion

To a cause, a problem to creativity,

Mystification to the things I don’t get.

The bigness of what I mean is often, like the sky

For me, from a place

Beneath it. Now peace means: quiet,

A little uncomfortable, a place

Where I can’t do much: it’s too bright to read,

I haven’t brought anyone with me

There isn’t any food. It’s boring,

My eyes have grown accustomed to this gazing

At something so safe yet so expansive.

This is what I return to, for this is what I need

When there is nothing safe

Nor expansive, I can see.


One thought on “Where Sky is What Peace Looks Like

  1. A poem in a time of turmoil. The soul under stress, the litany of the Good, the need for a nameless order and its reflection in the sky. This poem remakes traditional images in the human race’s long struggle – a spiritual and psychological assertion that must be constantly asserted. The voice of the poem speaks to a “you” – the inotherment of the self, a necessary casting decision in drama of self-communication.


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