She

Melbourne

She sits at her desk

on a Spring day.

On her right is the glass 
door to the back garden.

She is crafting a poem.

She is happy.

Her man and her children

are about their business.

She feels a strange frisson

rippling her back a moment.

She could be in a time-warp,

caught. Or timeless: forever,

in unbroken thread,

sitting at her desk etc.

This might be 1980, or 1985.

Murwillumbah

At my desk on a Spring day,

crafting a poem,

the glass door to the garden

at my right, my man asleep,

my children grown and far away

absorbed in their own lives,

I feel a strange frisson

and here I am. And there I am.

I can see that desk, that garden,

that woman across time.

I am in my body. 

I am here, I am happy.

And she is in me, with me;

we are two points on a thread.

It is 2011. It is now.


In response to a prompt at Poets United's Thursday Think Tank.