For the Woman Who Sits Every Day in Rosslyn Plaza by McDonalds
Our tripping hearts
Can’t comprehend the drag
Of rooted awareness sitting
In a chair on the plaza watching
Us being born, living full lives or not
Growing old and dying and
She still the mountain being,
Layered sweatpants, shorts,
Socks, hoodies
Overlooking the plaza
Occasionally sleeping and
When she wakes she is ever taken
Aback by the span revealed the
Colors, stratifications,
Movement of the terrane indicating
Forces still doggedly working.
And surprised, always that she is not
Alone in black space weightless
In a vacuum the way
That she knows she will
Surely one day be remaining
After in the quiet
Abandoned even
By the fluttering instants
Of childhood, everything
Peeled to the speck
Before the clod and stone,
Matter undeniably
Transient beneath the weather.
Matt Thomas is a smallholder farmer and occasional community college teacher. His work has appeared recently in Galway Review and Bluepepper and is upcoming in Dunes Review.
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