By Gwendolyn Jensen

You are plumb line and aplomb,
sense of order, weight of lead,
deep as ever plummet sounds.
You keep me straight,
you lure life on.

You are sleep, down-reaching sleep,
standing watch in my stillness.
You are the sound of falling snow,
almost not quite
silent snow.

You are the kid who follows me
through the turnstile at the T,
running joyous on a ticket
not your own.
I blink, and here you are.

 

Gwendolyn Jensen began writing poems when she retired in 2001 from the presidency of Wilson College in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.  Her work has appeared in The Beloit Poetry Journal, The Harvard Review, Salamander, Sanskrit, and Measure. Her first book, Birthright, Birch Brook Press, 2011, is a letterpress edition, now in its second printing. Her second book As If Toward Beauty was published in 2015. Birch Brook Press will also publish her third book in 2017. Gwendolyn lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.