sound of boots
pulled from stinking mud
distance
from center
of a swamp
to hard ground beyond it
a map you won’t consult
because it may reveal territory
road trip
you won’t take
for fear of dying
en route
distance
to action through words
speech
you won’t make
because it contains
promises
a room
you won’t leave in daylight
a door
you won’t open
you won’t even unlock
in case you have to walk though
age
you never asked to achieve
frontier
built from demands
that you justify yourself
before you go
January 3rd, 2019 at 6:12 pm
Oh my yes. Since the death of my husband of 60 years, I’ve realized that an ocean of possibilities (however limited by age) is as overwhelming as an ocean of loneliness.
January 3rd, 2019 at 6:15 pm
I’m sorry to hear this, Eileen. My condolences.