Poetry from Marne Wilson
He wished to say he loved her,
but he could not find the courage.
Instead he asked her who she favored
for the Superbowl.
She said she did not follow football.
Their voices escalated,
ascended to the mountains.
The avalanche was quick and soundless.
The melting waters rushed eddying to the sea,
and the waves engulfed all the land.
So lovers, test your love,
inspect it for truth,
but then declare it.
Make it known to all the earth,
or it will crumble at your feet.
Marne Wilson grew up on the plains of North Dakota and now lives in the foothills of West Virginia. Her poetry has appeared in such places as Atlanta Review, Poetry East, and The South Carolina Review. Her first chapbook, The Bovine Daycare Center, was recently published by Finishing Line Press.