Aug 132013

by Monda Van Hollebeke


Sobering. You awake one morning to see

you’ve missed it—the boat you wanted.

It’s not coming back for you.

The Poetry Academy named the new chancellors:

their faces are young, ready for everything—

only one old witness from the writing life.

You were going to begin when you had time.

But that busy life was only an excuse.

The mind won’t focus now; it feels unseemly

to utter words meant to be uttered long ago.

Your life as a writer was a dream.

And dreams dissolve.

Tear out the empty pages from your journal

for your four-year-old grandchild.

She’ll make stick people, hearts,

rainbows, houses with trees,

peach-colored clouds, a sturdy boat

and a resplendent sun with many arms.