Bio Note: This poem addresses change. Either I/we are on the verge of something, or it’s wishful thinking. Following so many difficulties of life under pandemic, and highlighted deep rooted societal problems, I am looking for the next beautiful thing. Most recently published poem will be “Arctic Breezes in May”, in the Uncertainty issue of Consilience Journal.
To the Pulse
Sky was pinking in swaths, bringing to mind a conch shell’s insides. Suspended below, pale petticoat of fog, fluffing the horizon line. Overseeing all, a still-full moon lingered silver, hesitant to quit this scene; her soliloquy delivery yet to conclude from the wings. I’m sitting, parked in the lot of a truck-stop diner, waiting to watch the coach bound for NYC pull out of its station across the road and get on its way, my son tucked inside. We’d hugged, dutifully wearing masks of the pandemic, and said our goodbyes. Acting like a grown-up, I’d left, rather than linger. But then, stealthily pulled into the lot. Right on time, there it came. I love you I beamed, straight through the metal sides of his coach; straight to his heart. Pinking, hues spreading like watercolor, emotions merging like a tide’s ebb and flow, my heart fills and empties, fills and empties to the pulse of Motherhood.
©2020 Marjorie Moorhead
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