We Think We Step Alone We think we step on solid ground, but shifting sands are all I’ve found. Shadows and mist, transforming cloud formations… We gather together as a particular form but nothing stays solid. Nothing remains untroubled. Not the body. Not thought. We ought to have wings or at least carry, at all times, one of those life preserver rings. For flight; for buoyancy, something to cling to in the storms of uncertainty. Side by side, or across the globe, you and I are droplets of the same foggy mist. Hold hands with me, link arms. Let us pool together awhile, I’ll splash in your puddle, and you in mine. We’ll soak heavy so all will sink, a heavy mix running from us as rivulets, soaking into common ground.
Marjorie Moorhead writes from the New England river valley border of NH/VT. She is the author of Survival: Trees, Tides, Song (Finishing Line Press 2019), Survival Part 2: Trees, Birds, Ocean, Bees (Duck Lake Books 2020), and has poems in many anthologies and literary journals. Marjorie’s first full collection, Every Small Breeze, is forthcoming, as well as a third chapbook, In My Locket.
Amethyst Review 