A poem by Laurie Kuntz


If this is my last poem
may my words continue.

I’ll relax in breaths of finality– 

I’ve joined in the laughter,
the clapping after music, 
a hearty dinner, frivolities 
in all its forms.

I stand in ovation 
for strong backs, working hips, 
and hops to places that I wish 
never to leave.

I will stay– 

with those who love a porch, 
a bloom of bougainvillea, 
a dry, but crooked path after rain,
and the presence of every two,
four, or eight-footed living thing. 

If this is my last poem,
I will rejoice in the fluency of thought,
but still mourn because there is room for that. 

About the Author:

Laurie Kuntz has published two poetry collections (The Moon Over My Mother’s House, Finishing Line Press and Somewhere in the Telling, Mellen Press), and three chapbooks (Talking Me Off The Roof, Kelsay Books, Simple Gestures, Texas Review Press and Women at the Onsen, Blue Light Press). Her poetry has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes and one Best of the Net. Happily retired, she lives in an endless summer state of mind. Visit her at:

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