Member-only story
Poetry
In the Shadow of Quiet Things
Poem
I crave the river’s steady murmur,
no longer the crackle of fireworks or the crash of waves.
I am drawn to the quiet hum of a reed bending in the wind,
not the jagged pulse of storms.
My soul, once a ship racing the squall,
now seeks the quiet of a glassy lake,
where thoughts ripple gently and then dissolve,
where the moon rests her weary light.
The news features future migraines thrown into still waters,
each headline a ripple that disturbs my cultivated calm.
I shelter my mind, draw the blinds against the digital deluge,
choose the warmth of my waking fur baby over the coming storm.
Home filled with frantic emotions of unfiltered urgency,
my daughters, thunderheads of emotions,
moods shifting like a swift tornado.
I cling to my husband, the lighthouse in chaos,
our shared years, the anchor that keeps my heart afloat.
