Nothing going somewhere


Like Eve, she dips her toe in

the puddle of her own thoughts.

There, she sees her feet, a little too clean

to be those of a pilgrim, bent on homecoming.

Still, the muddy entrails of dreams long lost

squish between her hungry toes

with footprints left behind, soggy reminders

of her storied youth, a small but meandering tale

of many pages, yellowed beyond their time.

They add voice and song to silence and struggle

and, where once there was something going nowhere,

now there was nothing going somewhere.


Painting: Eve Dipping Her Toes in the Waters of Eden by Marie Wise


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