SOMEBODY

SOMEBODY

 susan ambrosino

Somebody is alone,

drifting down the wide river in a small boat,

seized by the reckless beauty

of a teenager's desire to drop out of school,

turn and walk away,

garbage can overflowing.

Somebody trips over tree roots,

lands on hands and knees,

plummets down a well,

climbs.

Somebody stands in the sun,

bends, lifts, leans, pivots,

is so pitiful in fragility, so amazing in resilience.

Pizza and white wine…. pasta and red,

sloshy head and stomach full,

somebody moves on

into the insect noise keeping night air alive.

Somebody earned the freedom to take road trips,

peanut butter in the car, endless highway, cheap motel,

counting utility poles in groups of ten,

watching for cops,

limitless as heaven or god,

the soul,

the smell of lilacs,

weeping willows in August,

prayer,

limitless as listening to water drip,

hours spent in the hammock.

Somebody is moving through trees,

wondering if anyone sees the earth's fear of humans spreading

across its flesh.

But somebody must be back in time for Macy's ½ day sale

which ends at 1pm.

Somebody persists and persists.