Cave
Jim Richards A hole that happens in the earth offers us instead of sunlight darkness, so we duck beneath the overhang, and enter the mouth of solid stone. We lose our sight and find each other’s hand as if connected we could make it freely through a mountain’s spleen, as if interlocking fingers were enough to make us shine and make us see. We go as far as we can go in darkness, then turn around and look for a familiar glow, and when we find it somehow we let go of each other’s hand. |
About the author:
Jim Richards’ poems have been nominated for Best New Poets 2015, two Pushcart Prizes, and have appeared recently in Prairie Schooner, South Carolina Review, Juked, Comstock Review, Poet Lore, and Texas Review. He lives in eastern Idaho’s Snake River valley, and in 2013 he received a fellowship from the Idaho Commission on the Arts. |