It is no wonder
you carry the weight of the world
on your back—
if the sky were falling,
you’d raise up your arms
to hold it, too!
There are rainbows for every man,
if his eyes are
set to see such miracles.
But there is no gold filled chest
at the end of inconsolable tornados
filled with hollow black bells
an Enoch’s head—
where no rocks
making their way
to your windows,
trading your shades
Have you ever tried counting the stars?
Was there ever enough time
© Kristin Reynolds 11 22 2010
I’ve decided to put these poems I wrote in a flood a few days ago into a series—they all go together; parts of the same whole, so it seemed the right thing to do.
This is poem 2 in what I’ve named:
The Alchemy Series—a movement, a dance, 11 keys on one key ring.
The original title was:
Little stick arms trying to hold up worlds: a poem to the pain inside me
but, adding that to the series title seemed a bit much!