My World

Small as it may be.

When I can’t get started, I look around the room I’m in and grab something to work with. In this case, it’s a little statue a friend gave me. I am fond of it, partly because it makes me think summer and swimming.

My World

A woman in old fashioned swim cap, knees bent,
arms behind her, is holding a disk
that holds a round candle. She could dive off 
my six-tier bookcase, but she doesn’t. The candle 
doesn’t roll off. Some days she wants to dive so bad, 
the world reels. Other days she holds her position 
with grace, her thighs strong as steel, steadied 
on her wooden base, blue as water. I can’t stand
her doing nothing when things are so dire out here.
Maybe there’s more than what appears. 
There’s a threat these days, even if you don’t move 
a muscle. You can’t disappear, and you can’t 
get rid of the unlit candle that weighs like a bomb
at your back. You may be waiting for things to change,
you may be calculating the distance you can 
throw the candle. You know how far down it is. 
You don’t want to splinter your delicate 
arrangement. This is the poem I have for today, 
holding safely to the left margin.
       
               Just published in the new issue of Dunes Review.