It isn't just the ambiance
that pulls my aspirations to the edge of town,
that slides the buildings' dark geometry from me
and holds rituals of summer from hurrying
away beneath a drifting bank of cloud.
It is the tempting of a life beyond this ground,
the slanting plane of shadow on the hill
that keep me from the downside of this ordinary time.
It is the hour of retreat, listening to the rhythm
of ancestors' feet, the shiver of the vein of hope
that holds me here, alive.
Linda Conroy is a retired social worker living in Washington State, where she continues to observe and describe the simplicity and complexity of human nature. Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Twyckenham Notes, Plainsongs, Miller's Pond, The Penwood Review and other journals.