Walking in Absolute Darkness, by Penelope Scambly Schott

We keep walking, testing the ground

with the naked skin of our toes. Here

a ridge in the dirt, a broken twig. Next

step, the earth gets cooler and softer

as if recently wet. Now what feels like

a plank bridge over a stream, edges

of the boards close-spaced, a burble

of water on pebbles. We are stepping

on stiff prickers from crushed weeds.

Clearly somebody else tromped here

ahead of us. We are frightened but so

hopeful: let someone kind be waiting

for us at the end of the path. We may

call it God or peace or understanding,

or let it be the oldest dog in the world

come to lick our sore feet.


Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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