You could learn a lesson from clouds—
so willing to travel with the wind.
You could learn a lesson from highways
threading through the West like questions
asking themselves endlessly. You could follow
one road those nights when the moon brightens
the sky, rising above the tilt of the earth,
shining the sun’s light onto boulders
strewn beneath the clouds. This is when
you can almost hear the stars wheeling
in their precise silence. This is when
you believe you could stand on a balcony
in the sky and see everything.
originally appeared in Poetry While You Wait 2011
***
Amie Sharp teaches Creative Writing, English, and Literature. A native of Tennessee, she received an MA in English from the University of South Florida and an MFA in poetry from Seattle Pacific University. She is a member of the Colorado Poets Center, and her writing has appeared in dozens of literary journals and anthologies, including Atticus Review, Badlands, the Bellevue Literary Review, BlazeVOX, the New Plains Review, Tar River Poetry, and Valparaiso Poetry Journal. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and was a finalist for the Lascaux Prize in Poetry. She has performed at Bridgewater International Poetry Festival and Houston Poetry Fest, and she spent the summer of 2018 as artist-in-residence at the Sabina Cultural Association in Casaprota, Italy. She has led workshops for Poetry West, and is co-chair of the Pikes Peak Community College English Department in Colorado Springs. Her manuscript Flare was a semi-finalist for the Crab Orchard First Book Award, and her chapbook The Sabine Women won the Red Dragonfly Press Emergence Poetry Prize.
