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5 July 2021 Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!”
A.A. Milne After a period of perpetual motion, I’ve been doing my best to pause. This poem speaks to me: as a space to process all where I have been, rather than pursue what I think is supposed to come next. Can I let you in on a secret? It’s not easy I may not have the quietest of minds… Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means for a poem to be a pocket, to hold words we cannot speak: words we dare not utter in a life utterly incomplete How do I allow a poem to be a pocket holding the wait of presence? To trust that rather than halfway down or halfway up, I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Tell me: how does a poem become your pocket? As always thank you for reading ~ I would not be who I am without your support and encouragement. I hope you can join me for some upcoming events in Rochester and online ~ all the details below! xo this is my practice ~ to be just sew
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