Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | March 2017

Thursday Morning, Early, with Fog

By Barbara Costas-Biggs

The fog is so thick I could build a set of stairs
with it. Or a room, right in the middle

of the pasture. We hear the turkeys nearby, and we quiet,
waiting for them to cut paths in the vapor and fly blindly away.

In the driveway, this newly formed nebula,
you wave your arm around, mixing the tiny droplets

into swirls and wisps. I tell you that the fog is clouds,
and I’m not really sure of the science, but it sounds right

and looks right, and the things that I tell you still hold so much
weight. If we could see from above, from the top

of our small hills (mountains once, tall and snowy as the Rockies),
we could jump and then bounce right back up.

But I won’t jump. At least not today. I can’t ever lose sight of you:
damp, and in danger of being swallowed by the grey.

2 replies on “Thursday Morning, Early, with Fog”

Jessicasays:
March 15, 2017 at 9:30 am

Love this. “The things I tell you still hold so much weight”…what a wonderful way to describe the wonder that is early childhood.

Reply
Karen Harvey​says:
March 22, 2017 at 10:01 pm

The last 2 lines really touched me. She. They are babies we watch every move but it doesn’t seem long before they are off on their own adventures. Nice poem. Thanks.

Reply

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Barbara Costas-Biggs

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy