Figures
A metaphor is not a wall,
but a turn in the sudden
feel of it all,
the breath that comes
before the fall,
the calm that comes
before the form,
a philosophic
casting call,
a shapely reminder
that language is limber,
thought is a bridge,
the brain is a gate
which is the break
in its own wall
and the heart is inclined
to the clearing sound
of the undiscovered waterfall.
This poem first appeared in The Hudson Review.
Reviews of the author’s work are here, here,and here.
Wendy Videlock lives with her husband on the Western Slope of the Colorado Rockies, where she writes, paints, and teaches across the arts. Her work has appeared widely, most notably in Poetry, The New York Times, American Life in Poetry, Rattle, and The Hudson Review. Her full-length books, Nevertheless, Slingshots and The Dark Gnu, are available from Able Muse Press, and her chapbook from EXOT Books. Her visual work is featured in galleries throughout Western Colorado. To see more of Wendy’s work please visit here or follow her on Instagram @wendyvidelock.inklings.
Poet’s Note
This little poem, like most poems, arrived with a mind of its own.
