Friday, November 10, 2017

Sloth

By
Kathryn A. Kopple









As I tip the jar of molasses and wait
I think of you in far off Costa Rica.
How eager you were to see a sloth
in the jungle.  Strange that one
so sluggish could be so elusive.
If it were not for the molasses
I’m not sure I could quell the world
wild with agitation long enough
to ponder the ways of a treacle
limbed mammal that dwells
thirty or more years in the same tree,
suspended upside down.  Such
eloquence, you said, in all
that slowness, to be alive
and not to sprint to the finish.


Credits:  This poem first appeared in the Fall 2012 issue of The Threepenny Review.

1 comment:

  1. No one can split us apart. The evolution will not be televised. Hang in there. Semper Fidelis. Je Taime! Take Heart. Wisdom has remembered herself. -the Gnostic Jewish woman. Je Taime!

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