Soliloquy
by Sharon Scholl
A long night with an upset stomach
and you become acquainted with creatures
who carry their own lanterns,
those whose eyes are luminous,
those without sight who know the earth
by texture, touch, and odor.
They’re a different crowd
from the day scroungers
whose noisy signals clatter in the woods.
They cling to darkness and to quiet,
fearful of the owl’s soundless flight,
its sure detection of a heartbeat
in a hidden tunnel.
You have to sit awhile, hold your breath,
let your eyes get used to dimness
before you notice the night shift
busy with its parallel assignments,
before you see dirt rising as a mole
digs its way across your lawn,
the white wings of just hatched moths
assembling in ghostly clouds.
It’s a world as vital as the waking version,
full of its own threats and losses,
the small triumphs of survival.
Sharon Scholl is a retired college professor (humanities) who convenes a poetry critique group and maintains a website (freeprintmusic.com) that donates her original music to small churches. Her poetry chapbooks (Seasons, Remains) are available via Amazon Books. Individual poems are current in Third Wednesday and Agapanthus Weekly.
