Poem #25: Cycle Through

In a trance I whirl about

heedless of the distant shouts.

Some days it beckons me and

rocks my head in its arms

like I was a baby,

an infantile woman with

no pride.

Some days it turns me away,

fierce vehemence in its stare,

and I cannot but hang my head,

trying to breathe.

Some days more I cannot sense

the rumble under my feet and

pick up danger too late.

Then I am killed in the landslide.

But today I whirl and twist and spin

heeding of its fearful gaze,

trying to make out the reason

for its abandonment of me.

Today I see its barren face

and think it is the weak one,

not me.

But tomorrow I will let it consume me,

as only tomorrows can

and the cycle will begin again.