Lime Cove Poem by Hans Ostrom

Charlotte sings a lullaby
to her bedroom, making sure
it's slow asleep before she
quicks herself away. Charlotte
and the night are in a kind
of clanky love. She says
to her doorbell, 'Please come
in, ' and washes from it all
those oily index-finger prints.

Solicitations, she thinks, take up
so much of our lives. Asking,
answering. 'God, ' she asks,
'help me to find a place in pause,
a site, a situation, for it seems
I am defeated by the business
of each day.' Charlotte knows

she hasn't earned or isn't due
a special treatment. She also
knows she isn't out of line
in asking for some cease of
time, a cove carved out of
lime, where a pod of echoes
soaks itself in brine.


Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom