The Way Out Is In

            In an oval world where
            points of view are eye-shaped,

            out of a round world, helpless,
            where even the hamburger has
            an accredited helper, dirt cheap,

            both hands on the steering wheel
            I drive alone slowly past
            frame houses with big porches, as if
            I could live in a world of neighbors

on porch gliders, and rock with them
behind a trellis on a scented evening,
behind and under wisteria,

greeting a couple
from the next house down who
happen to be strolling by,

while we all listen oval-eared
to the school-grounds’ distant echo
of the merry-go-round at the fair.


Solstice On the Way

They stand still, they glisten, the trees
high-crowned in the quiet woods
I turn my back on.

If I keep on whistling  or
humming  talking to myself
like this,        I won’t hear

who alights in a lofty
contained flurry, soft within
wind’s thin whisper

among the highest branches.
Whoever it is, happens
to be great, a great singer
like intimate lighting striking.

Suppose I cd hear the song
close enough to understand.
My footing would change,

change or charge me so I see
first (but not just) the ground path
then I see the paths

aimed for me

Published in the November 11, 2016 issue: View Contents

Marie Ponsot recently received the Aiken Taylor Award in Modern American Poetry, given annually by Sewanee Review. In 2013, she was awarded the Ruth Lilly Prize for lifetime achievement by the Poetry Foundation. Her Collected Poems was published in August by Knopf.

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