Where Now He Ploweth
by Sheila Petre
Somehow, we live without her, that which seemed
Impossible. The earth is only scarred,
And always will be marred, although I dreamed
One night, of her return. The gash came back
With morning’s whispered mocking: See, the lack
Remains with you. You cannot go to her—
Not yet. Earth will not break for those
Who breathe. But One rose! This grief cannot blur
That certainty. Though I would ask God plow
My life another way. Too hard, this, now.
How else, than how it is? In vanity,
We wish to shift the plunging of the blade,
Which made, of senseless dust, our sanity.
From here, believe, leaf will unfurl. And how!
Sheila lives with her welder husband Michael in a split-level house in PA teeming with children (nine) and stories (countless). Contact her at sheilajoyful@emypeople.net to ask her about her new poem book illustrated by Hannah Lehigh.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy
“A poet can survive anything but a misprint,” it’s been said. So in the interest of survival, here is the (missing) first line of the above poem: “Somehow, we live without her, that which seemed”.
Sorry, Sheila! It looks like it was a copy and paste error. I’ve fixed the original post.
Beautiful!