Danielle Page

For Asheboro

Firmly mounted on the quartz and clay,

The foundation of a stilled town rests.

It is here that the land is tilled, season

After season, crops predictably rising

And falling with each year’s yawn, sleep,

And blurry eyed awakening.

It is here where shop owners expect the

Quiet morning before the Sunday rush,

Where the trailer lawns are littered

With decor and junk and knick-knacks,

Where generations stay put, unwavering.

But do you not perceive it?

It is here where sunflowers, extinct, are rediscovered,

Where hearts of unsheltered folk find their souls pitched

as upward as their tents finding fresh ground.

Where the Uwharrie flows to fill reservoirs with fresh water.

Where “always been” is slowly slipping out of its set vocabulary.

It is here that the quartz and clay split open,

the ground bellowing its wide eyed response:

“Behold, I am doing a new thing.”

Pondus gloriae

How do cathedrals bear

The weight of glory?

Is this why they were

Fashioned from stone?

Does their colored glass

Serve as another clefted

Rock, deflecting a

Holy, burning light,

A kaleidoscopic veil?

Do their archways brace

The burden of his presence,

A secure vault for his

Manifold perfections?

Or, is this why its wooden

Doors withstand piercing

Gazes of mercy: to share

With us its Atlassian task,

To carry the weight of glory?

Danielle Page is a truth-teller, writer, and educator. When she’s not reading up on composition theory, she’s scribbling in her Moleskine journal or hiking a mountainous trail. Her work has appeared in the Whale Road Review, Calla Press, The Raven Review, Dream Noir Magazine, The Amethyst Review, and elsewhere.