A Poem Is Not

A Poem is Not a lifeline to grab when your foot slips near the summit and the heavens suddenly lurch and loom; nor a salve for knifing rib pain when your beloved falls on black ice, and has to sleep for a month in the living room recliner; nor a miracle cure for a friend's fainting, falling, repeated midnight rescues, his paper white face propped on hospital pillows; nor a school of miracle fishes to feed unexpected company at your door; the cupboard bare, a few crumbs wiped off the table; but after the lifeline holds, the funeral is postponed, words may offer up, jostle themselves together-- forming a ladder to climb, a spoon for a warming chowder, a bridge to somewhere with a slightly different view. --Peggy Brightman (c) June, 2018