In this new poem, Devon Balwit takes the abstract forms of Laura Page’s art work as a starting point for creative potential and a powerful human narrative.

I.
always, they ask you
to move mountains

with wings reclaimed
from boulders–

what can be done
must be done.

II.
you hear them
before you see them,

soldiers crossing
the field, feel

their stocks splitting
you in rough reminder

you are weak.
you grab what you can

and run, the baby,
the blanket,

after weeks
on the road,

there is no telling
the difference.

III.
now, you are coals
kicked under,

heels dragged
through dust.

if any dare touch
your canted beam,

you will topple
and crush.

Caryatid V

Down she drops, precipitous,
a comet tail, Icarus’ wings

melting wax; or, less dire, a Naiad
diving into a pool, tree-crowns

clapping; or aflame—her windy
plummet only a suspension of

the hard business of dying; or,
spangle-skinned, dangling upended

from a circus rope, ringed
by astonishment; or lifted so

in private dance, sweaty against
her partner. I hope the latter.

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