A lightning spark from a summer storm
ignites everything in its path.
Tectonic plates collide the earth opens.
Vesuvius erupts burying Pompeii
in a river of molten ash and stone.
And then there’s the single-minded,
exquisite ego of narcissists.
Bent on winning, saving face.
Never mind what’s left behind,
what’s trashed, bodies left like litter.
And the so-called modern world watches.
Remote control in hand
with no control over what matters.
Oh how far we’ve come
from who we think we are.
—
Laurel Feigenbaum began writing in her eighties. Poetry is her way of exploring and coping with the world in which we live and the inevitable changes that come. She is the mother of three, grandmother of seven, and great-grandmother of eight. Her work can be found in The Amsterdam Quarterly, The Marin Poetry Center Anthology, and her recent book Life In No Ordinary Time.
