by Julie Allyn Johnson
a young man flails in frigid water,
his thin arms tiring minute by minute.
storm clouds in the distance grow darker,
the wind is strong; the sky, ferocious.
I’m an old woman, brittle and frail.
a wheelchair defines me now; each day, a solitary futility.
my sole joy, this panoramic vista from the bay window,
overlooking the tranquil waters of Lonesome Pond.
has she, also, floundered in life?
the daughter I gave away haunts me.
child, have you been treated well?
does love accompany you day by day?
I stopped wondering long ago
if I might, someday, learn your name.
9–1–1 is all I could do for you, young man.
these arthritic fingers prevented a swift and speedy dial.
I hear the sirens. they’re growing louder.
can you hold on just a bit longer?
I did what I could.
I did what I could.
© 2025 Julie Allyn Johnson All rights reserved.
“the lookout” was previously published by The Wee Sparrow Poetry Press in December 2024.
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