Don't Know

There is a stuckness to it all,

a frightened freezing

that causes our feet

to flex.

A readiness,

a drive to nowhere

but the limited sphere

of “I don’t know.”

Dancing around its edges,

looking clean through,

we see the murk

of collective grief.

The howls of “Let us out!”

and “How dare you!”

echo and flare

at the fringe.

“There there,” coo the birds.

“Patience,” whisper the trees.

“Softly,” soothes the sun.

“We are one.”

By Judy Prescott