The Choice
Every word was a loudly ringing bell in an empty hall
I heard your words as they rang
Empty
Took my children by their hands
Turned
We
Walked
The
Other
Way
What choice did you leave us?
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The poet is often enamored with their work; I sometimes think for days before I finally craft the words. Occasionally I write a piece and read it years later thinking “that’s pretty good.” Recently my thoughts refuse to be short essays-they only want to be poetry, and sometimes minimalist in nature. Sometimes gone before they become visible. I hope you are able to read some of these and think hey, nice-and a few and think hey, that thought edified. Have a beautiful day. Ruth
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