by Becky Harblin
The longest day,
the most light Sun will
give us,
today
a long shadow made
for long hours
by a tree whose very bark
slowly peels away
holding,
just barely,
loose,
and then it flies
in the wind,
away
from the tree, a parent
reluctant
to send a child off to
life.
The longest day,
imagining the child
on this solstice, and the storm
raging in the distance
and you can’t do,
you can not do
anything but watch
it rage
and your child has peeled
loose and is free
to do
what
soldiers do.
Becky Harblin is a sculptor who works in concrete and soapstone and also writes daily haiku and senryu. Each morning starts with these meditative 'in-the-moment' poems. Becky lives on a farm with sheep in upstate New York. After years of working in Manhattan she moved to the more pastoral setting and found new inspirations and new challenges. Her poetry has been published on New Verse News, and North Country Literary Journal. You may also view her poems at her Web site.
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