On Reading Billy Collins

 

Reading instils a sigh and then 

dropped shoulders, your back settling

into the back of the chair

your breath falling

into a poem about poetry-

an empty bridge over a cool stream on a clear day,

not a hint of drama or backstory to ripple the peace.

You fall into that peace 

and then beneath it

to the time before the bridge

to the time before the stream

contemplating nothing in particular

and everything at the same time.

The dog wants you to go into the other room

There's a tray of flapjacks to be baked

and that five minute upper arm workout to perform

But you're so far below the surface of the everyday

that it may be a while before you can emerge

even if you wanted to

look upwards and outwards towards a morning sun 

throwing shadows on gnarled branches 

and burgeoning leaves of lilac breaking through buds, 

and besides,

you still can't hold your arms out in flight mode

for five whole minutes.

Copyright 2025 Cathy Leonard

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