The Moment

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment
when, nothing
no what-have-I-to-do-today-list

maybe half a moment
the rush of traffic stops.
The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be
slows to silence,
the white cotton curtains hanging still.

– Marie Howe


The poem seems simple, without degenerating into the trite – a deliberate construction to remind us of the moments when we lose the scurrying and bustle and find ourselves, or find ourselves in the moment perhaps?
You can read a bio of Marie Howe here.

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