Volcano Country

By Michael Mintrom

I cut a measure of sky
from boards in the shed
and, with brass brads, attached
a belt of rusted iron.

Now a row of jagged peaks
touch the space where
in real life, you’d see
plumes of smoke rising.

My world. Volcano country.
Like when kyacking on the lake,
looking across the ripples
to mountains and sky.

I think of all the places
eruptions are occurring —
families trudging
to imagined safety.

My world is nothing.
My story is nothing.
But I affirm love
and all the good I know.

That, for today, will do.

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“I like contemplating the mysteries of life.” – the poet