by Helen Padway
Our rope cinches the globe
stretches over continents
fording rivers, floating on seas.
In a spotlight the cord is fraying
one thin strand at a time.
But, still holds a thatched roof,
a three bedroom ranch,
a tall building,
bright with neon flashes.
The twine loops around
stones to grind maize, tea
in a porcelain cup, peanut butter
and jelly on whole wheat.
While a tug of war between
bigotry and bigotry continues.
If the cable snaps we will scatter,
through the cracks and roll into ashes.
Helen Padway writes in Glendale, WI. When she is not writing poetry she is thinking about writing poetry. Has been published in Poetica, Moondance, WFOP Calendars and other regional and national journals. A member of The Sparks poetry group and The Hartford Avenue Poets. Is very proud of her associate poets and grateful too.
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