Vox Populi
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Dawn Potter: To the Republic
after Horace
Those last moments, before the sun drops behind the hills,
you linger, not yet yourself—no darkness, no stars—
still waiting, waiting for the curtain to sigh shut,
for the stage to empty, for the dust of the actors’ feet
to shuffle and settle.
Where is the owl?
Silence swells,
and the bright fingers of evening fade to ink.
A bat triangulates the heavens; the heavens
bend low, heavy as paint.
When will the owl cry out?
When will it kill?
You tremble, night. You tremble.
But you do not fail.
~~~~
Dawn Potter is the author or editor of ten books of prose and poetry— including the poetry collection Calendar. She lives in Portland, Maine, with her husband, the photographer Thomas Birtwistle.
Copyright 2025 Dawn Potter
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Okay, this is terrifying. But oh so brilliant. Thank you, Dawn! You never cease to amaze and inspire me.
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It is very serious theatre, and Dawn has written about it in a way that says it all without saying it out loud. It gives me the shivers. When, indeed, will the owl cry out? The line that touched me most: “waiting for the curtain to sigh shut”
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A beautiful and profound poem…
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Stunning. The imagery, the pathos, and the dramatic tension are palpable.
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I agree, Carlene. This poem is elegant and profound.
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It’s time for the Owl of Minerva to fly.
Dawn sets us down in the dusk-land of our republic, where we hover today between spiritual survival and death wish, hoping for Wisdom to return. Fly, bird of knowledge, over the walls some are building to keep you out. And hoot your call under the ink and stars.
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Thanks, Jim. Dawn’s poem is a masterpiece of subtlety.
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