Moving In

When I first moved
to this neighborhood,
life came abruptly
to my bed every morning
and dragged me into its river.

I had to wake up
to find my way,
the old maps
weren’t any good!

Houses, sky, trees,
cars, people—
a wild kaleidoscope
whirled around me and
I never walked past
the same place twice!

After a couple of months
it all began to congeal
until now I’m a clever spider
prowling the strands of
the sturdy web I’ve spun.

I cross habit’s intersections
each day instead of being
surprised every time
an unexpected stream
of asphalt rises
before my feet.

And I find myself thinking,
“I need to get away…”

 

About Max Reif

I’m not always sure what poetry is until something MUST be said. Then it does get said, somehow, in the most telegraphic way. This happens frequently during some periods, infrequently during others. I sometimes wonder if a writer is someone for whom an event, an epiphany, does not really “count” until its spirit is somehow rendered so that a reader can enter and share it. 

I currently live in northern California, work and play with small children 30 hours a week, work on a cycle of autobiographical stories, deliver “rescued food” to pantries and shelters (see whiteponyexpress.org), and share a safe, quiet home with my wife, Barbara.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Photo courtesy of Max Reif.

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