Footsteps

I have never arrived
into a new life yet.

Have you?

Do you find the squeak
of boots on snow

excruciating?

Have you heard people
say, It wasn’t me,

when they accomplished
a great feat?

I have, often.
But rarely.

                        •
     
Possibility
is one of the elements.
It keeps things going.

The ferry
with its ratty engine
and exactitude at chugging
into blocks and chains.

Returning as ever
to mother’s house
under a salty rain.

Slave up, slave down.


More Poems by Fanny Howe