Sunday Poem ~

by Maggie Smith

The heat rises in distorted gold
waves around fire
but without fire,
shimmering, twisting

anything seen through it.
The heat rises, rasping
the air it rises through,
scuffing the surface,

if the air has a surface.
The tall summer
field is the keeper
of secrets. Lie down

and forget your body, forgive
your body its bad cradle,
its brokenness.
Lie down and listen

to the rasp, to heat sweep
the pale, dry grass as if
it were your own
breathing, as if the field

you’ve pressed your shape into
is a broom in reverse,
a broom being
swept by the wind.

Copyright © 2017 Maggie Smith. Used with permission of the author.

I am grateful to Maggie Smith for giving me permission to post her extraordinary poem.

“Rasp” touched my heart and had me catching my breath. I hope you all enjoy Maggie Smith’s “Rasp” with all your heart and soul.
Again, thank you, Maggie Smith, for your generosity!

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility
‘One can judge a nation by the wy it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle
Victoria Kaloss

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