November 4, 2015

One poem by Peggy Trojan


Reading at the dining table,
I saw from the corner of my sight,
one of the periods moving
across the page. 
I watched it make its way
over the paper.
It had some destination in mind.
Did not run around like ants do,
but headed straight east
onto the tablecloth’s
four feet of white desert.

I could not think of how to help it,
as once I saved an orange
caterpillar from sure death
by turning him at the edge
of a hot two lane blacktop,
heading him back into the grass.

But this speck of being?
Where did it come from?
Where was it going?
In the vast world,
would it ever find a lover,
or a friend?

Peggy Trojan, former English teacher, enjoys retirement in the north woods of Wisconsin. Widely published in journals and anthologies: Boston Literary Magazine, Naugatuck River Review, Echoes, Your Daily Poem, Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge and others.  She is the author of two chapbook collections: Everyday Love (2014) and Homefront (Evening Street Press, 2015). Her full length poetry collection, Essence (Portage Press, 2015), is the most recent publication. 

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