Atlas
The world begins to wear
a flat spot into my shoulder.
I carry it by turns with my
writing and nonwriting hand.
Oceans lap at my temples.
Submarine and whale songs
confuse my ear so I
change sides again and shake
a cramp out of one forearm.
My fingers seek mountaintops
to stay away from city traffic,
seek coasts to avoid immersion
except for this one coast
that began to burn my palm.
Closing my eyes and bowing
my head I wonder what
is happening in this story
but can’t yet put it down.
*
Claudia Gary lives near Washington DC and teaches workshops on Villanelle, Sonnet, Meter, Poetry vs. Trauma, etc., at The Writer’s Center (writer.org) and privately, currently via Zoom. Author of Humor Me (2006) and chapbooks including Genetic Revisionism (2019), she is also a health/science writer, visual artist, composer of tonal songs and chamber music, and an advisory editor of New Verse Review. Her 2022 article on setting poems to music, and some of her settings, can be found online at https://straightlabyrinth.info/conference.html. See also pw.org/content/claudia_gary
