Implosion


On the late news we heard they would be imploding

an old high rise on the south side of the city. 

The next morning we woke early, tired of the usual

Saturday routine, never having seen a giant

fall, but we lingered a bit over breakfast, the bacon so crisp,

the coffee sweet, lingered over the paper, couldn’t resist

at least starting the crossword, then headed out

on Lake Shore Drive, encountering traffic we hadn’t expected

at that hour on a cold winter morning, perhaps others

longing to witness sudden collapse, something monumental,

the rush of it, the stolen power, and so we crept along

in imagined solidarity, eyeing the frozen lake, a vast

whiteness, until we arrived…just a moment too late.

I saw in the distance a corner of the building, there and

then not, crumbling from sight.  We drew nearer, but

all the cars were pulling away, headed home, having seen it.


                                                                Sharon Dornberg-Lee

Sharon_Dornberg-Lee2.html

About My Work


I write more for myself than the world, though it feels great when something I've written connects for a reader.  I write to make sense of the world, mostly about other people's lives as I imagine them, or my own experiences, as a therapist, mother, woman.  I can't imagine my life without poetry, the sensation I get when I've just read a great poem:  both spine tingling and calming at the same time.  Where would we all be without that?




Featured In

Literary Mama

Writer’s Block Party

Earth’s Daughters


Poems

What They Didn’t Tell You

the absence of color

The Order of Things

The Ghost Tour