A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
What if every time our lives began to tremble
with pending danger— the oncoming
loss of job, spouse, great head
of hair— a captain spoke
above the static
in a practiced voice, telling us
it is just
some turbulence, a storm
from the East,
He could advise the crew to pass out
soft drinks of consolation,
hard pretzels curved to the shape
of life’s perilous twists.
And then, we might believe in him,
understand he needs us
to remain calm,
not to give into throes of panic,
as he guides us down
the impossibly low ceiling
of our descent.
Copyright 2019 Baruch November. First published in Bar Mitzvah Dreams published by Main Street Rag.