Solstice Poem - Carla Steinberg

[Larry Robinson]

Solstice Poem

The world will not end tonight,
though the wrinkled horsemen
slumped over their antediluvian mounts
are standing by waiting for the cue
and who knows where the trumpeter’s gone by now
itching to wet his whistle ...

though the placards and signs are lined up
against the crumbling walls proclaiming the end is nigh
and the ones on parchment vellum and papyrus
curl in their glass cases as generations
of school kids careen by, oblivious.  ...

though the fountain of youth persists beneath
the track at Hialeah or maybe next door
under the ersatz jungle pool at the Four Winds Motel,
plastic pink flamingos fishing the crew cut lawn, ...

though the bomb shelters sink into themselves,
faded labels peeling from crushed and dented cans
whose combined shelf lives equal
a number we have not yet reckoned, ...

though the cryogenic warehouses await occupation
your choice of sheepskin or stainless steel lining
your pod stationed on site or shot into space, ...

though the falling dreams, the flying dreams
the nightly haunting journeys through
an unbound space time confluence...
(Did you ever ride an elevator to the moon? )

though the green leaves furl crimson and gold
and fall in the gusty autumn afternoon
and the sky stalls, a stark white glare
under the wraiths of cloud, the shroud of fog....
though the brewing rain a deluge in the drought, ...

though we are saturate of blood and oil,
the tape loops of disgruntlement,
the strung beads of grievance,
the squandered slain of battlefield and school

and though we grieve the sacrificial lambs,
petals strewn on blind archaic altars,
though we toll the bells and count our losses,
cast our nets, jump from cliffs,
or dive into the cold dark heart to find the molten light,
The world will not end tonight.

	- Carla Steinberg