Contributor: Cynthia B Pitman

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The world is flat today.
No curvature of the earth
creating in us such primal verve
that we twirl and twirl
with outstretched arms
while we lift our faces to the sun.
No curling winds unfurling our skirts
as we dance with the wild lilacs
by the cold trickling stream.
No morning glory.
The sun has risen, but that is all.
Our spirits did not rise with it.
They remain tethered to the ground.
The world is not round.


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I am a retired English teacher. I began writing again after 30 years of teaching. My poetry collection, The White Room, is forthcoming.