Poetry Friday: In the Middle

Because I, too, am "in the middle of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's, struggling for balance, juggling time."

Because I love poems that hone in on the tensions of this life, the passing of time, the unsettling realizations of the temporal world, the uncanny way in which the mystery of love trumps everything else. Always.

Because it's Poetry Friday.

Because I love to share treasures.


In the Middle

by Barbara Crooker

of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day I look out the window,
green summer, the next, the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

The round up is at Teaching Authors today.