Some days, the world is in the creased palm of my write hand, guiding what I say.

Some days, the world is a swirl of adventure that sweeps me up, unknowing, hopeful I have the supplies I need.

Some days, the world frightens me, with humanity bumping uglies to create pain and devastation.

Some days, the world comes close up to my doorstep, knocks politely, and I can invite her in to get to know her.

Some days, the world collapses inward, spraying debris, crumbling to its foundation, leaving us to weep in the rubble.

And some days, the world reaches out, pulls me in tenderly, whispers hot in my ear just like my 5th grade teacher used to do: “You are so loved.”


3 responses to “The world arrives in many ways”

  1. arbind kumar Avatar

    Barbara ! Your poetry is quite imaginary but beyond imagination . And imagination , thy name is poetry . Your poetry is certainly written with write hand . And the world will know your gate one day before you ask her who she is . Thanks !

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Barbara Powell: poet Avatar

      Thank you for your kind words!


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