February 2025
Tom Montag
theoldmonk85@gmail.com
theoldmonk85@gmail.com
Bio Note: I am a middlewestern poet and essayist, author of the memoir about growing up on an Iowa farm, CURLEW: HOME. If I couldn't read upside-down, didn't eavesdrop shamelessly, and failed to listen to the many voices in my head, I wouldn't have much to write about. An earlier one was the woman in an imaginary painting; the current voice is the old monk. And so we go into the new year.
Of all the things she wants
Of all the things she wants,
perhaps fresh bread is first,
steaming and slathered with
butter the color of
the light in her hair. Wait!
You can almost taste it.
And the light
And the light
against the wall
casts her dream
as silence.
We do not know
how long she
has been waiting
here. We do
not know what
the artist wants
from her. We
do not know
what she hopes
for. We can
only say for
sure she has
found a stillness
we cannot have.
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It's important. -JL