A Sample: Dappled Lives

Jogging in Place

If you survived the blizzards
the fierce and frigid winds that swept the prairie clean,
you still must suffer spring.
Melting snow meant mud.
Out West River they called it gumbo.
It sucked whatever life was left,
and only bones of the dead cow
remained in the pasture
fastened as if with super glue
gumboed, grounded, destined
to become this monument of grief.
But one creature's monument can be another's landmark
a way to keep from getting lost.
But here there is no gumbo.
Just carpet and a metal frame -- the walker
to keep me steady.
Jogging in place seems possible.
And in my head I gain both stamina and speed.
Soon I will not be left behind.
I glance down to see my feet
barely moving.
Drawn as if by magical magnetic force to the carpet.
Fastened, as if with super glue
gumboed, grounded, perhaps destined
to become another's landmark.
If I am here, then so are you,
and only one of us is lost.

Copyright © 1996 by Teresa S. Gridley. All rights reserved.

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