In the Chorus
Daily ride uptown.
My performance had to be loud, bright, perfect.
My training evident to all fellow passengers
when I caught a whiff of my essence behind a door
silent and distant, stuck but not locked.
I could retrieve myself any time
but I stood in my way
too busy, too worried, too vain, too giving, too pretty
to wait
too young, too smart and strong, too dependable
to heed the warning whistle
to stop, light a candle, pour a glass of crisp white wine
soak in the warmth of self, luxuriate in intelligence.
Must schedule an hour to waste.
But time has been my friend, age my ticket to contentment
my spirit finally escaped greed
and grew old, free of self-inflicted demands
that railed against reason—
if I had only known, all those long years ago
how the tunnel of ambition
crippled my vision
how fortunate I am to reach old age
to wander freely among spring wildflowers, turning leaves, and falling snow,
sing off key and write bad verse,
leave those parallel career tracks, never converging, never learning
never satisfying my real need
to love the quiet, rhythmic pace of peace.
.
Cathy Hollister is the author of Seasoned Women, A Collection of Poems published by Poet’s Choice. When not writing you might find her on the dance floor enjoying the company of friends or deep in the woods basking in the peace of solitude. A 2024 Best of the Net nominee, her work has been in Eclectica Magazine, Burningword Literary Journal, Smokey Blue Literary and Arts Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, and others. She lives in middle Tennessee; find her online at www.cathyhollister.com
Stone Poetry Quarterly 