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Teresa Adkins Poem
At what point
do you bring it around,
cap the spontaneity,
quell the conversation,
put everything neatly within the margins?
About the time a shard of brilliance,
previously withheld,
pokes out,
trying to see its shadow.
A reflection of Punxsutawney Phil,
unsure of the next move,
or just in time, before the sliver,
simply a sharp piece of the puzzle,
launches itself through space and time,
tearing into those who are tender and fleshy,
not yet able to defend themselves,
defenseless against the barrage?
Today cries out,
in bouts of pre-indignation,
a security guard at a remote cave,
longing to do, to protect, to be,
yet what remains, we observe
with eyes in search of reassurance,
a wanton scavenger-hunt for the resilient.
For those who are learned, assertive, and wise,
their strength assumed, but untested,
the next generation,
pray to their gods to withstand the wind.
Copyright © Teresa Adkins | Year Posted 2014
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