Every so many years—sometimes
decades—the giant blocking
the exit rolls
over, stretches. Or gets
careless and leaves his spectacles
on top of his head, wanders in circles
in search. Or reads something in the paper
that angers him so, seizes
his club, strikes
the floor with such force, the whole
cave shudders.
That’s when
you make your move, your
escape.
You and your men
and women. Because you made
a plan, you stood
in a line and waited
and now, your moment
has arrived: At last,
you step out from
darkness into sun
and so much
air and sea.
You have almost forgotten how
to speak.
Sally Mills is a poet and attorney from Downeast Maine. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in publications including The New Verse News, The Main Street Rag, Sheila-Na-Gig, Rat’s Ass Review, The Esthetic Apostle, The RavensPerch, Life and Legends, The Prairie Review, and Mobius: The Journal of Social Change. Her poem “Sunken Angel” was selected for the 2026 Page Gallery Art & Ekphrastic Poetry reading.
