Poem | Kenosis

Sideling Hill, MD (Wikimedia Commons)

 

Look at the rock cut
to carve the highway
and see the history
of its making —
molten rivers molded
appearing frozen
while working out
their next dissolution,
replenishing plenitude
apparent only
as it’s lavished
lava-like.

What about the earth
that even solid rock
is not, but all in transit,
crazy tracks visible
in marble bands
rumpled like bed sheets —
so full it must brim,
reach, spill, get lost,
carried in capillary
action, in endless
emptying and
resurrection?

Published in the July 6, 2018 issue: 
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Elizabeth Poreba teaches high school in Manhattan. She has published a chapbook, available from Finishing Line Press.

Also by this author
Imagine the Crucifixion Itself

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