Walk the Line

by Judy Halebsky



Bend the spine of a thesaurus—

my shadow map, guide of distances,

atlas of cities


if this book were a bridge I would trust my weight to it


late bloomer, mountain azalea, dwarf pine


the letters didn’t always make words

there were years and years

when they just stayed letters


I have come to feel moss under water

I have come to put my feet in the creek


Bashō and Sora on pilgrimage

write on their hats:

no home in heaven or earth

on this path we go two together


(monks on pilgrimage, by two we go

the monk alone but with the dharma

Bashō alone but with Sora

me in the library with 20,000 other fools

and a mother who wants a postcard

a line on a Christmas note

a baby girl to walk

a two-wheel bicycle, a spelling bee

a pirouette, a finger to trace the letters across the page

the letters to make a song)


some say they fought

some say they parted in anger


after Sora stayed behind

Bashō let the words by two we go

wash off his hat in the rain


at graduation, my mother, hands in the air

shouts, it’s a miracle, a miracle



From Tree Line, Kalamazoo, Michigan: New Issues Poetry & Prose, 2014.