Today's poem is by Alison Apothecker
Fog on Skyline Drive
Because what I say must be said
silently, a hushed gathering
of lip readers practicing
an imprecise articulation,
and also because all you can do
as you grip the wheel this evening
and steer against the white line
that leaves you dizzy in its trailing off,
lost mid-sentence, a verb
feeling for its object,
I will have you trust that this night
will unfold in the same order it does
on any night, that you will,
more slowly, yes, but all the same
Let me explain it this way:
All that is indecipherable is what I am.
Trees become their shadows and their shadows'
shadows the faces
you've tried hard to remember not to
You will come to know faith as a white flag
you wave to the road and night,
the deer and opossum waiting just beyond
the dimmed lights.
Your body calls this grace.
Now, you see it clearly in your mind:
a warm room, the sleeping dog.
I give you the chance, curve by curve
to practice what is necessary
and to hear it being said.
Copyright © 2006 Alison Apothecker All rights reserved
from Crab Orchard Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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