New Poetry by Linda Adair

THE TOPOGRAPHY OF US

Driving west through the plains 
childhood reawakened thoughts
leap between stones crouched
like islands of papier mache
against the torrent of memory

I’d watch the sky to see the moon rise
run away without moving a muscle
know too soon so much of adult ways
innocent icons furled inside
a gram of sentiment like a riddle that
takes the words out of a mute mouth

this tarmac becomes a meditation
Let’s stay. No? just calling in on my way home
to the mountains bla...