loopy
before clocks
there were stone circles,
listing like a group
of middle-aged women
gathered for a girls’ night out—
a way to grasp time
when everything was a mystery,
a place to gather,
walk in circles,
to honor what was lost,
then look up at the yawping sky
and feel safe, for a short time.
here there are no blue stones
hauled and hewed into loops
with no beginnings,
no endings—
and the sky shimmers with pink streaks,
so I walk around my kitchen island,
marble mined from somewhere in Italy—
yawping.
maybe I look mad,
fingers tracing my chiseled past,
spooling thoughts—trance-like,
but in this spun-out moment
I can honor the mysteries of my body
and imagine the sky
stretching wide, bluing,
as if everything I’ve lost
could be found again.
About the Author: Adele Evershed is a Welsh writer who swapped the Valleys for the American East Coast. Her work has appeared in Poetry Wales, Modern Haiku, Flashflood, Atrium and Literary Mama. Adele has two poetry collections, Turbulence in Small Spaces (Finishing Line Press) and The Brink of Silence (Bottlecap Press). Her third collection, In the Belly of the Wail, is forthcoming with Querencia Press. She has published three novellas-in-flash, Wannabe and Schooled (Alien Buddha Press), and a third called, A History of Hand Thrown Walls, (Unsolicited Press).
Image Credit: Hilma af Klint Group IX,SUW No. 8, The Swan, No. 8 (1915) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 