Muse Rides the Rail
Connie Carlson

On the balcony, watching the south bound train,
wondering if she�s on it or northward bound.

I see her wave from the top of a boxcar. Insane.
Not that she promised to stay but I�ve found
it difficult to write without her around.

She looks for a moment as if she might jump
from her perch. Does, in fact leap
between two cars, unsteadily bumps
her way to the next one. Creeps
along the side, dives rolls into a heap

of tall grass at the river�s edge
looks back at the slow moving freight.
She�s heading this way. I make a pledge
not to reveal my relief . That can wait
till I see if she can help. Hope it�s not too late.

Out On A Limb
Connie Carlson

I�m ignoring her. Up a tree, now, waving at me.
She�s amused, as always, by my
predicament and intent on saving
my sense of humor. I�d rather cry
but know that�s not an option now.
She�s climbed higher. Yells at me.
�Watch this.� I do. She dangles from a bough
one handed. I look away. Can�t see
what�s next. I hear the plop
as she hits the ground. No moan.
�You can do it. Nothing to stop
you. I think I broke a bone.�
I turn. She�s limping. Our eyes meet.
Pain and humor play on her face.
�I told you...�I start. �I landed on my feet,�
she interrupts. �And so can you, Grace.�