V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





His daughter is learning to walk
in the yard, one white-shoed foot
in front of the other, tethered 

to her mother by tiny hands
that want only to let go.
For days, the trees that line

the highway on the west side
of the soybean field softened
in the haze of smoke from Canadian

fires. Even the meteorologists
seem amazed to find the stuff
appearing on their maps, a pendulous

teardrop that will never really fall.
He wonders about a world of families
camping in the woods, mothers and fathers

choosing exile and deprivation
over the possibility of anything else.
He can see them on the road,

cartop carriers and bicycle racks
moving through the smoke, moving
endlessly through days that seem

they will never end, until they do.
His daughter falls, stands,
then falls again, all a part of a plan

that has her laughing in the grass
while the forecast calls for a shift
in the winds, arrows pushing arrows

across a map, as if they have a choice.

© by R.G Evans


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