Pamela Livingston

Surely we must all
Be in our cocoons,
Pounded and displaced
By all the news.
Unravelled through -
We’re not quite new.
Chemicalization
It has been called -
The old basis of our belief
is gone. And in its place
A phosphorescent song - HOPE
was in us all along.

We in creation, are blind
At first, to see... the light
At the end of the tunnel
Is a little seed in me.
Or... the rise after the fall.
‘I have high hopes for you’.
The last words my mother
spoke to me,
Earth hums to all.

Surely we must be in this
Purge time, this merge time -
Could it be Hope
that makes a Butterfly?

But... fingernails, and claws -
We are not mush!
To reach
Into this earth
Is such a rush! In Spring
When all is Hope
And hope’s in
everything.

Pamela Livingston is at present hunkered down, and perched up above downtown Eau Claire in a small upstairs apartment, appreciating a view of trees, birds and squirrels.