Stagnant

The faucet had been freely flowing

Much like a steady river running,

But then the drain had started slowing,

Surprising all our careless cunning.

 

Eventually, we turned it off

Or, at least, reduced the rate

At which the water filled the trough,

And now we’re left to ask, “Too late?”

 

A tepid pool now lingers, waiting

Until the flow will start again,

While we remain at odds, debating

The right way to restart and when.

 

But as the present seems to stretch

And sit from day to day unaltered,

Perhaps we have the space to etch

A better future where we’ve faltered.

 

When future’s bells return to ringing,

Perhaps the flow will pull us to

Release what vestiges were clinging,

Revealing light still shining through.

I wrote most of this poem several weeks ago, while the pandemic quarantine was at its peak (although I continue to work from home now). It explores many of the same ideas and themes as my poem Spun Askew, which I shared in early May. Still, I think it has some relevant things to say, especially about continuing to be conscious of the societal issues that this pandemic has exposed.