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Poem August 2021

Snap the Whip

          Winslow Homer (1872)

 

 

You know the game: everybody

runs hard as they can, holding hands,

and then the boy on the near end

suddenly stops, sets his feet hard

against the ground, and the others

swing, like a gate made of children,

swinging faster the farther out,

fighting centrifugal force now

to keep from being flung away,

flung out of the sudden circle

this line of children has become

a radius of, and those farthest

out have to hang on for dear life.

What saves them is how tight they and

their friends can hold on, and for how

long. The farthest from the center

need the strongest friends.

— Millard Dunn

Millard Dunn is the author of
Places We Could Never Find Alone.

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