Issue Thirty-Six - Summer 2020

A Poem

By Ray Sharp

This broad plank of a table,
wood warped and wavy,
pitches the most familiar things —
cups, bowls, my orange thermos —
at canted angles, slightly askew,
unpredictably if not quite
perilously, so that we pause
even in breathing, in wonder
at the strange arrangement,
a poem.

Copyright Sharp 2020