Rounding Third
Touch anything, and scuff it,
either the thing or your finger.
The best sponges work not by
cleaning, but through abrasion,
the outer layers of a wall and
a smudge lifted off. Even if
I listen to all of my music
at the same volume, even if
all the songs have the same
voice and words, fall is still
rounding third and leaving,
winter waits, and after it,
spring, and summer, and
another and another fall,
heading home. The words
we are taught first tell us
the moving pieces of our
world: we count up to ten,
sing the letters, learn colors,
shapes, animals, seasons.
What sound does the dog
make. What falls from the sky
in the winter when it’s cold.
We can learn what to expect.
Hi Hannah,
ReplyDeleteThere is something youthful about this poem, and then I saw the photograph, perfect. There is something sad about this poem, as well. I enjoy the "voice" of the speaker of the poem, an older person, ageless, I think; reflecting both backwards to childhood, and forward.
There is a deep statement in "The best sponges work not by / cleaning, but through abrasion...."
ReplyDeleteWhy are we taught what we are taught in that order?!! Lovely poem Hannah!
ReplyDelete