The world is flat today.
No curvature of the earth
creating such primal verve
that we twirl and twirl
with outstretched arms
while we lift our faces to the sun.
No curling winds unfurling our skirts
as we dance with the wild lilacs
by the cold trickling stream.
No morning glory.
The sun has risen, but that is all.
Our spirits did not rise with it.
They remain tethered to the ground.
The world is not round.
About the Poet
Cynthia Pitman has been published in Vita Brevis, Pain and Renewal Anthology (Vita Brevis Press), Time Anthology (Vita Brevis Press), Amethyst Review, Ekphrastic Journal, Scarlet Leaf, , Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem Contest finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee), Adelaide, Right Hand Pointing, Red Fez (Story of the Week), and others. Her first poetry collection, The White Room, was published by Kelsay Books.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
Beautiful poem Cynthia, I always love your work. And those last two lines are brilliantly devastating–love them