It matters that this is true:
that pushing the stroller up the hill,
filled with sleeping boy and girl,
I thought about my muscles and
didn’t see the sky like smoke
at four o’clock, the drying trees
like black veins in the gray.
It matters that I thought
about my boots, that they were good,
and didn’t hear the red-eyed cars
rushing like wind, their terrible trumpets,
then the whisper of leaves.
All I saw, all at once,
stenciled on the pavement like a cut into stone,
the black showing through from a great distance:
NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS
About the Author
Courtney Druz is a Jewish poet, mother, and former architect now living in New Jersey. Her poems have appeared in several publications including the current issue of Entelechy: Mind & Culture. She holds a BA in religious studies from Brown University and a MA from the University of Pennsylvania.