Our focus is a small world. . .
When I read this poem I take on another perspective. It is a small world that we focus on here. Never aware that there is another world to the left and one to the right and beneath . Vast. . . I see me holding tight to the frame of thought simply to get through. Still conscious of too many things. I feel like a stick figure when taking on this perspective. And yet my head feels ‘out there.’
I wish we were in class so I could hear your thinking.
We Trod The Path . . .
We trod the path, hunched
and pull our faces in.
We bend our heads. The wind
is strong when you walk into it.
But I take your hand
and we struggle against
the icy rain pelting our faces.
We’ve walked this route
in centuries past, guarding ourselves
from saying too much.
We were different then.
Simple, direct and not fashionable.
We were honest in our appraisal.
We’ve become alien to our prior selves.
And I can’t say it improves us much.
What do you think?
photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.