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Beth Gallovic

Arc of an Incomplete Circle

Cups and curves are shapes I crave

from hand-knitted hats

to bicycle tires

toes of shoes, heels of socks

pot lids and potatoes

round rocks I hold in my palm.

My lonely mother, unheld herself

could not hold me

the way the shore hugs the lake

unknown to us, the magic of moonrise.

Straight line pokes me awake.

Her days, now numbered, on the square calendar grid.

Reaching out requires reaching

more deeply within.

What shape, after all, is forgiveness?

I hold grapes, olives

inside my mouth

speaking curved words to her

the way rounded hills speak to me

calling, calling me home.

About the Author

Beth Gallovic has been seen on hiking trails around Boulder Colorado, pulling out creased squares of paper from her backpack to scribble down lines of poetry. She marvels often at what an expansive force poetry has become in her life. Her poems appear in Pine Row, Quibble and Twenty Bellows.

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