Always On The Wing
Roll out the bed
Feet on the floor
Head to the grindstone
Hands on those knots
I’m watching this early onset
Beauty and her toddler son
And her biker husband
And her laser eyed mom
post content on her demise
Third gear, pump and burn
standing jogs, up and up
a hill I made for myself, leg drive, B12
My spin instructor yells
The hearst is undefeated,
but not today.
She’s laughing about losing
words, no antibiotics, no tubes
just comfort, just lip gloss
Today I lost it, she said, laughing
Churning checkbook
Balancing beam
Steady and go over the top
Hustling all the way
She looks for answers (from God?)
How someone so young, so useful,
so needed, someone still moving
be caught like this and brought down
By the same gravity
that holds me here
cussing at the lawn,
pulling the cans in
from the curb, crazed
8 thoughts on "Always On The Wing "
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Love how this poem captures fragmentation and unease so well!
This one hit me in the chest!
Wow! So good, Liz—compassionate grief, of course, but also saving humor. We do what we must.
She’s laughing about losing
words, no antibiotics, no tubes
just comfort, just lip gloss
Today I lost it, she said, laughing
A verse worthy repeating!
You do a great job of bringing the reader in with this poem.
Caught my breath:
She’s laughing about losing
words, no antibiotics, no tubes
just comfort, just lip gloss
Today I lost it, she said, laughing
Your short lines and comments about exercise instructors are some of my poignant memories from Lit Arts. I love the hill I made for myself.
You painted a vivid image here.