In search of story

April 30.22: Coping, but barely


Where are the toes

with which we hold

when we reach, teetering,

for the tender goaled?

When life twangs

our bearings like rubber band

and we, poor spitballs,

clawless in foot and hand,

hover on the verge of shot

yet, refusing to be denied,

become the squirrel,

wind and gravity defied,

and clutch that feeble twig,

how do we dare?

Does the soul have claws

that hold us there?



It seems appropriate, dear reader, to end Poetry Month with a question since I always start it with a question: what is poetry? Still scratching my head on that one.

6 thoughts on “April 30.22: Coping, but barely

  1. There are so many situations for which we are poorly equipped. Life throws everything at us. We weave and bob and duck. Only occasionally do we grab on and hold tight.

    • Well said. And sometimes there’s no explaining where we got the strength to hold on tight. At least that’s the way it seems to me.

  2. Deep, and I’ll go with both you and Dan. 🙂

  3. I always feel like answering the question when you raise it, though I sense you prefer it to be an ongoing question and though I would give a completely different answer each time. Today’s answer is that poetry is in the particular: sifting through a lot of that will not dos to find the yes, that’s its. I often have yes, that’s it moments when reading your poems.

    • Thank you! It is lovely to think that you find a that’s-it in my words! I also think that having a different answer each time is fitting for poetry; it’s a slippery sort of thing.

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