Vox Populi
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Barbara Crooker: In the Middle
of a life that’s as complicated as everyone else’s,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather’s
has stopped at 9:20; we haven’t had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don’t ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning’s quick coffee
and evening’s slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his great head between;
his tail is a metronome, 3/4 time. We’ll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.
Copyright 2005 Barbara Crooker. From Radiance (Word Press, 2005).
Barbara Crooker’s many books include Some Glad Morning (Pitt, 2019). She lives in Pennsylvania.
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Lovely, lovely poem. And, sigh.
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“Each day, we must learn
again how to love,” — and how I love that daily re-loving!
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Thanks, Laure-Anne!
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Thanks so much, Sean!
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And then we becomes alone, no close, no twine and grandchildren grow, the dog’s muzzle grays, and days become moments of still here.
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Beautiful, Barbara. Thank you.
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Thanks!
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Wonderful poem that captures the rhythm of a life well-lived.
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Yes
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Thanks, Robbi!
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You’re welcome!
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Very good, with a great ending
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Thanks!
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She’s so great. Love this Thank you Michael—Sean
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Yes, she is great. A beautiful sensibility rendered in perfect music.
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