Someone always is.
It doesn’t matter how.
The state is complete in itself
like a mushroom or a grave.
Someone is lost,
and the place they’re in
fits nowhere on their agenda,
won’t show on maps
or satellite photographs.
Someone is lost.
Whether adult or child,
they are afraid,
haunted by disappearing earth.
A world that once contained
hairdryers, fences, crowds
now is only a track among the bracken.
Someone is lost.
Whether or not there are search parties
doesn’t matter to them.
They are just as lost
as if no helicopters were churning.
Someone is lost
and it might not be a forest;
it could be a love affair or a hospital bed.
All we can do is report that we’re searching.
Someone is lost.
It happens sometimes.
Sometimes,
that’s the end of the story.
(Third Prize, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest 2011, Category: Journeys)
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Dragonfly
PoetryWelcome to the Dragonfly collection by Deborah Fruchey. Here, the stars are savage things, toes are like crickets, and a friend is a lost wedding ring. These 10 evocative poems come from a larger work, Armadillo, available in print at http://amzn.t...
