by Pamela Mosher
If you stay still long enough,
you’ll find that nothing happens.
No prophetic moment of epiphany
is waiting to take you over. And she
knows this, in her slow pacing
along the front of the stage, feet bare
and open to the vibration of the floor
as she raises her hands in solicitation
or deference. Tough to say which.
She doesn’t strive to arrive anywhere
but where she already stands, swaying.
You’ve seen that acceptance in her.
You’ve heard it in her voice as it
came to you through the radio
on a weekday commute to work,
when you slipped your own feet
from your shoes, and pressed
one foot against the gas pedal,
and the other into the grit
of the floor.
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 3