Today's poem is by Caroline Maun
The Hole at the Bottom of the Pool
The pool was aquamarine serene;
sometimes it was also the belly
of a whale, each ditch of grout a rib, me
marco-poloing in that microcosm, getting
closer or farther away from others,
voluntarily, temporarily blind;
it was a theater for light, air, and water to dance
just add motion. Every nearby surface
an array of reflected brightness,
or a stage for the fractal elements. In that riot,
it was impossible to square cause and effect.
Even in stillness, the wind picked up
a few waves and threw light
on the white stucco. The screen was torn off
by a tropical storm years before,
but the scaffolding still sectioned the sky into
intriguing cubes. On a dime-store raft
I charted the course of clouds.
The pool was perfect except
for the wildlife that wandered in;
toads and small snakes
ruffled the quiet skin of the morning water.
Set them outside to resume, and let peace
reign again. Even the ones not rescued
were not a source of grief.
If you have a pool, that's how it is.
But, at the bottom of the pool was a hole,
a three-inch circle of dark portent.
To this space of nothing my thoughts
returned. Its circumference was
the edge of the world, portal to the next.
Gravity did not rule
you waited there for something
else to wield the net of rescue.
Copyright © 2013 Caroline Maun All rights reserved
from What Remains
Main Street Rag
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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