It’s called “I can’t hold myself up”
We fling ourselves to the center,
to the mercy of the circle,
to the ready arms
that join to catch us
It’s a good game. It helps us feel
the web of care that gives us all our power,
the substance of the arms
that never let us fall,
that hold us, even as we hold each other
When the long arced summer sun
finally recedes to twilight,
sky going blue to sunset to gray,
we’ll leave these grassy fields
and go home for supper
and the lights in which we are sustained.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2016
No comments:
Post a Comment