Gathering Moss*

    by Karen Kelsay

You always stopped for no apparent reason,

Whenever we walked into town — it drove

Me crazy.  Every changing season

You'd find a little coppice in the grove,

Or see a beetle laboring across

A fallen leaf.  I had to break my pace,

Transform into a stone that gathered moss.

I couldn't keep annoyance off my face.

And then my knee decided I should learn

To stroll with leisure, letting pain be teacher.

I spotted lilies, pale asparagus fern,

Looked up to see the pear tree's every feature.

A faster stride?  It almost seems unholy.

How glad I am you still like walking slowly.

© 2012  Karen Kelsay

* previously published in Mezzo Cammin  Spring 2012

Karen Kelsay is the editor of Victorian Violet Press, an online poetry magazine. She was recently awarded  the Fluvanna Prize from The Lyric, and some of her poems can be found at The Hypertexts, The Raintown Review, Mezzo Cammin, The New Formalist, Grey Sparrow, and Medullah Review.