Get Over It | By: Roselle Kovitz

Under it. Maybe.
Bearing its weight
like an Ugandan girl
carrying gallons of
water back to her
village from the nearest stream.

Get over it.
Maybe not.
Not until it comes in,
all the way. Pushes
the door so wide,
leaves blow in,
take up residence.

Get over it?
Hardly.
It has been planted.
Taken root.
Changed the composition
of the soil,
the landscape.

Get over it!
Not so fast.
A trace of pain
should linger
long enough,
so joy has a foundation
to build its own
crescendo.

Over what?
The rise and fall of
breath? The rolling
beat of the heart?
Waves crashing
on shore, then rolling
back out to sea,
changed, rearranged?

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One Response to Get Over It | By: Roselle Kovitz

  1. Michelle says:

    I love your poem, especially the final lines. Thank you for sharing!

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