Where is the Poem?

4 Apr

The poem
isn’t always waiting
on the slippery sea lion rocks

or hiding
in the beak
of the ducks
on the pond.

It isn’t always in the space
between my daughter
and her screen,
or in the search terms
she chooses
or in the speed of her run
across the bridge.

The poem isn’t always
in the tick of the clock
in a silent room,
books and pens and devices
distracting the owners
of voices not yet
speaking.

It isn’t always
my Honey’s palm at my back
or steam rising from my first cup
of morning coffee.

It isn’t always
the strong click of a door closed
in the gaze
my daughter makes to meet mine.

It is often simply
the jagged metal edge
of a wide pipe
opening in the middle
of a stubby cliff,
green leaves fluttering all around.

It is in the green leaves.
It is in the turned earth.
It is in the trickle of water
down the side of the stubby cliff,
or in cars rolling along the road above.
It is in the jagged opening.
It is in the fluttering.
It is where the pipe has been before.
It is in the green.

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Where is the Poem?”

  1. Tokoni O. Uti April 4, 2015 at 9:16 am #

    Great piece. Love the theme!

    • RoiAnn April 4, 2015 at 9:37 am #

      Thank you! I spent all day yesterday looking for a poem and finally took some very poor pictures of the jagged pipe under a road, and realized this morning: THAT was my poem.

Your Words

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: