placid with the mountains

I cannot be the abstract
the city asks of me

I cannot maintain the grind
of teeth, of grime –

the hot seconds stuffed
into dull hours

when I do not go out,
the ghost of going out

rises within and whispers
of how the November woods

still smell of autumn –
of how the sleeping lake waits,

placid with the mountains
etched upon her face

© Sarah Whiteley

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10 Comments

  1. What is that saying that you can’t take the “country out of…” the individual….I think it’s true…I grew up in a small town…and those values are still embedded in me.

    Reply

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