The Still Point, a poem by Debra Elramey at Spillwords.com

The Still Point

The Still Point

written by: Debra Elramey

 

Beneath a dome of gunmetal sky I push my toddler
son along the bumpy pavement, buckled up
and snug in his umbrella stroller

We come upon a ghost campus at spring break.
The only signs of life today are of birds in verdant trees,
and center stage, a fountain cascading into a wishing pool.
Candescent fish, like kids at hide and seek,
dart underneath the candock.

The stroller click-clacks onward, over brick pathways
in our pursuit of pleasure. Here, an octagonal structure
on which a plaque is posted: Peace to all who enter
here. A locked door. So much for peace. Whatever
presence might have dwelt within that place
remains a mystery.

The meditation center, I’ve been told, has since
been leveled like an old ramshackle privy.

A quarter-century passes. My son grows tall
and travels west, ascends the heights
of Swannanoa where heaven
is more within his reach.

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