A clean wall freshly painted in the muted
grey green of marsh water tinged with twilight.
A few moments in a bow-back chair
without giving in to its support. Feet
positioned ready to propel her body upward
as if, halfway between the firm fabric of work
and the silken flow of long forgotten pleasure,
she knows what swirl the night sky spells.
She was never one to sleep away her dreams.
She does not look back, does not turn
toward the window, does not pet the dog
who sits at her command yet strains to see
what lies at an oblique angle to her deep
inward gaze at this still moment, now
when colors coalesce and her hands curl
holding a child’s blanket as if about to let go,
as if about to ask, or about to answer.
Margaret Rozga enjoys quietly walking or biking the path along Lake Michigan near her Milwaukee home. Her poems were published recently in the Capitola Review, Weave, and Memoir (and). The Wisconsin Library Association named her book Two Hundred Nights and One Day an outstanding achievement in poetry in 2009.
© 2010, Margaret Rozga
Halfway Down the Stairs 