# Poetry



## marymac (Jul 7, 2006)

Virginia in Summer

I'm told the earth, by astonishing,
miraculous coincidence, is precisely
the right size to cast a round shadow
of exactly correct proportions to fit
entirely upon the moon?s surface.
I'm told this casually by the man I love,
as if it were common knowledge, as if

it were true. Perhaps it is. I need it to be.
I need, all the time, for something to be true.
A globe casting its penny into heaven's river.
What to do with such a silvered ship?
And how do I keep my feet planted 
on this hot sidewalk, dying of thirst, 
bottle of water in my hand?


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## Vargas (Apr 26, 2006)

I've found, as many others have, that there are no coincidences. I'm sure that if you look you'll learn this truth for yourself. God bless and good luck, it's beautiful.


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## marymac (Jul 7, 2006)

Thanks, Vargas.

This poem was written about the man in my life who has "talked me through" countless DP events. I can say to him "Whoa, I'm floating" and he gets it, and does something, I'm not sure what, just sort of starts talking and staying connected with me. Makes me want to cry to think about how grateful I am for him. I'd been experience DP for most of my adult life, and didn't even know it, or notice it, or know that I could have a life without it. Mostly the result of an abusive, and long, marriage.


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