Of the Places I have Escaped

The lobster trap sits in the sand,
rusted and broken,
no longer of use, except perhaps,
as decoration,
a trophy to hang on the wall,

a reminder of the traps that have held you,
the places you have escaped,
not by strength or wisdom or wileyness,
but by simple patience
and the willingness, once the walls come undone,
to leave.

About this poem

So many never leave, even when the trap door opens.

Sigh.

Tom

PS – the picture was taken at Hampton Beach, NH, in February.