A Way Out
Trying to breathe in this place,
close to the source of my grief,
while coins thrown in the wishing well
are glimmering and turning—
I feel my right foot slip, and then my left,
something tightens in my chest.
Be still, my heart!
You will find a way out!
Posted on January 15, 2017, in Arizona, Macro Monday 2, poetry, Poetry Pantry, Poets United, Sunday's Whirligig and tagged breathe, coins, glimmering, grief, place, slip, something, source, still, thrown, turning, well. Bookmark the permalink. 20 Comments.