“Mote”

A poem by Lyde Longaker.

I was,

when I knew

I was a mote,

an aimless speck swirling,

between shadows

made by slatted blinds,

so fast I did not know

dark or light

I never saw myself

I only felt the spin

I asked why?

a cord pulled

tempo slowed to 3/4 time

spaces between the slats

raptured me in light.

seen by shining motes

I did not hide

I enjoined the waltz

I am

a speck of gold

reflecting the wonder of God

Lyde Longaker writes to live. She was born at home in Edgeworth, marauded Sewickley's Isaly’s ice cream parlor, was held captive in boarding school, and set free by Carnegie Tech (now Mellon). She now lives in Ashland, VA. She raised kids, stayed sane in theatre design, taught art, made pots, and now, thanks to The Pittsburgher, at age 89 she is a published poet.