Sylvia Ashby
 
 
Motion Sickness
 
In this restless, hyperactive universe
galaxies rush to embrace, or
   keeping their distance--aloof, antisocial--
flee to some cosmic manifest destiny.
   
As our dizzy terrestrial top speeds non-stop
     locked in a convenient choreography,
flaring meteors expire above--
    one last theatrical gasp on a farewell tour--
 
while impatient magma burbles below
    waiting in the wings for a cue.
Yet deep inside, cells realign   
with hectic neurons texting
 
their thousand Facebook friends,
all transmitting in wild abandon.
Meanwhile--way down south
   on my porch in Patagonia--
 
I sit, admiring this green square of garden
   neatly tucked behind a white picket fence.
I sit gently swinging to and fro  
  wondering why I don’t drop off-- head first--
 
tumbling into a vertigo void,
  spinning Pavlova-like in endless pirouettes,
  reeling, racing through space
enroute to a lonelier infinity:
 
marathon dancing with an elusive partner
and no impressario.

Sylvia Ashby's background is in theatre, acting and writing; she's published 15 plays for family audiences--with thousands of productions. Since she started sending out poetry two years ago, dozens of her pieces have appeared in various journals: Mezzo Cammin, Rhino '15, Constellations, Muddy River, etc. Plus several anthologies.