The Way Out Is In

            In an oval world where

            points of view are eye-shaped,

            out of a round world, helpless,

            where even the hamburger has

            an accredited helper, dirt cheap,

            both hands on the steering wheel

            I drive alone slowly past

            frame houses with big porches, as if

            I could live in a world of neighbors

on porch gliders, and rock with them

behind a trellis on a scented evening,

behind and under wisteria,

greeting a couple

from the next house down who

happen to be strolling by,

while we all listen oval-eared

to the school-grounds’ distant echo

of the merry-go-round at the fair.

 

Solstice On the Way

They stand still, they glisten, the trees

high-crowned in the quiet woods

I turn my back on.

If I keep on whistling  or

humming  talking to myself

like this,        I won’t hear

who alights in a lofty

contained flurry, soft within

wind’s thin whisper

among the highest branches.

Whoever it is, happens

to be great, a great singer

like intimate lighting striking.

Suppose I cd hear the song

close enough to understand.

My footing would change,

change or charge me so I see

first (but not just) the ground path

then I see the paths

aimed for me

Marie Ponsot recently received the Aiken Taylor Award in Modern American Poetry, given annually by Sewanee Review. In 2013, she was awarded the Ruth Lilly Prize for lifetime achievement by the Poetry Foundation. Her Collected Poems was published in August by Knopf.

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Published in the November 11, 2016 issue: View Contents
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