the roofers outside my window
shoveling shingles onto the street,
the riding lawn mower's precision
and the clean smell of clippings
colliding with the humidity's haze.
The sound of machines and people
working remind me that we are
in this together joined by
bone and cinder we carry.
Each baby dancing
to an undiscovered beat, each volcano
erupting pumice and ash in the heat.
I laugh so hard at times my belly aches,
my sides go numb, still I want
more. More seasons to bloom
with all their shades — pine in the winter
Kelly green in the summer when glitter
glistens off my toe nail polish. I want to
always look down and see sparkles,
look up and see billows of white spread
across pure blue. I can love the world
if I stop and listen. Sounds
like running water return me
to the womb, the whiplash of thunder
brings me closer to myself. When
happiness seems ten thousand miles
away I remember concert crowds
in stadiums, all those outstretched hands
and voices in unison — one song, body,
one night, and it's enough to make me believe
there is no need for sadness or war,
even the tiniest of wars that we wage inside.
— Laurin B. Wolf
Laurin B. Wolf lives in Avalon. She has an MFA from Kent State University and a BA from the University of Pittsburgh in poetry writing. Her poems have appeared in Scholars & Rogues, PMS, Two Review and the Madwomen in the Attic Anthology Voices from the Attic. Her book reviews have appeared in Whiskey Island. She is a guest host on the weekly radio show Prosody, featuring interviews with poets, and co-hosts the monthly reading series Mad Fridays. She teaches writing at Duquesne University and Robert Morris University. Many writers featured in Chapter & Verse are guests of Prosody, produced by Jan Beatty and Ellen Wadey. Prosody airs every Saturday morning on 90.5 FM.