On the asphalt river winding through my city
a car sped by,
its driver
- determined to arrive I do not know where -
claimed space for self
inches from me
perched on two wheels.
I stopped
pushed my bike through long grass
and left it
under a sweet gum tree.
With one leap
I claimed space on rock
a flat piece resting
in the creek winding through my life.
Boxelder branches above, a limestone cliff opposite,
a single dragonfly,
poised - translucent wings spread - on a slender twig,
greeted me.
Home, she said,
you are home.
I know, I said,
I know,
Even though I dared not touch water:
Poisoned,
holy no more to humans
who claim space along its edges.
About the Creator
Denise Davis
A Manhattan-toasted, Kentucky marinated, Southern Californian, this 60+ year old woman has studied writing, taught writing and admired writing. It's time to actually begin writing. We shall see how this goes.
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Comments (1)
Great poem! I love dragonfly’s!