Carol Casey – Poem – 6

The Socks
by Carol Casey

I wonder what happened to 
those socks I wore that sparkled 
in the days when dancing 
made most sense within 
my healing love for you, a slow burn 
kindled, the sureness of my heart, 

which wasn’t wrong, as it rejoiced 
in finding home where hearths 
could burn and not burn up.
Do you know how rare 
that is? Or maybe there are millions 
of ordinary people walking 

side by side, not even thinking 
about it. But it was discovery 
to me, as if we were the first, 
the only made to fit together, shelter 
each other in a world that fears 
nature, humanity, then their loss. 

We hold each other’s hands 
and love dandelions, 
cry for our posterity, white rhinos, 
black lives, missing and murdered.
I’ll need another pair, or maybe ten, 
of sparkling socks 
to dance all this.


Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada.  Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared most recently in The Prairie Journal, Synaeresis and Plum Tree Tavern (upcoming) as well as a number of anthologies, including Tending the Fire and i am what becomes of the broken branch.