Hello to All who are gathered here today in the dVerse Universe, a place of pubtalk and poetry. I am your host, Lisa, ready to serve drinks and snacks from the magic cupboard. Quadrille Monday is where You and Your Muse are prompted to write a Quadrille. The name for the quadrille form is taken from an 18^th Century dance, but as you may know, it is also dVerse’ poetic form of just 44 words (not counting the title) and includes one word the host provides to you.

We have just returned from a 2-week summer break. It is the 14^th of July and is also the 14^th Anniversary of our poet’s pub. We’ve finished submitting for the anthology. It is now our turn to enjoy the summer, keeping cool or keeping warm, depending on the hemisphere.

In poetry, there is a pivot, or turn. On roads there are turns, where we don’t know what to expect around the corner. There is the turning in our hands of a pretty rock or seashell to observe its special features that drew us to it. When we are waiting our turn in line at the store, “next” is always the most thrilling place, isn’t it? Many of us remember the days of vinyl LPs and the ritual of placing the platter on the turntable and carefully dropping the needle. In playing board games, we take our turn and wait afterwards while others take theirs.

The first poem I chose to share is about the ethereal nature of turns. Just where do they start and when have they ended. Unlike board games, in real life it’s not so easy to tell.

Turning of the Year
By Judy Ray
We never know if the turn
is into the home stretch.
We call it that—a stretch
of place and time—
with vision of straining,
racing.  We acknowledge
each turn with cheers
though we don’t know
how many laps remain.
But we can hope the course
leads on far and clear
while the horses have strength
and balance on their lean legs,
fine-tuned muscles, desire
for the length of the run.
Some may find the year smooth,
others stumble at obstacles
along the way.  We never know
if the finish line will be reached
after faltering, slowing,
or in mid-stride, leaping forward.

The second poem is potent and speaks well to where we who exist in the U.S. find ourselves.  I hope it all turns out to be a long nightmare, because nightmares end.

Turnstile Jumping
By Janelle Tan
the card machine is broken again.

on the platform, a boy
jumps the turnstile behind me.

i notice him, walking toward the tracks
with no look back.
some days the turnstiles swing forward,
and i don’t look back.
some days by the emergency exit a hand on a holster.
those days i say a little prayer.

last winter i couldn’t afford the subway,
vaulted over the turning metal bars—another hurdle, to live
meaning being fed meaning no metaphysical questions
just getting somewhere.

last winter they could have made a detailed case
for my deportation.

let me be honest:

my vision has gone blurry from drinking, watching cars
cutting overhead and starting my own subaru
trying to find my way home.

for years, i closed my palms
over rings in shops. store lights searching,
my hands grasping empty,
my closed pockets.
a small step over the sensor.
every day, another jump over.

they hang men for marijuana back home.
for years, i ended my day
blowing smoke out the window.

the case against me so loud it straightens
into a hum. for this, for this.
always another hoop to jump through.

last night, the woman i love cried in the shower—
they could drive you out too.
i can’t lose you.

the hot water slipping
down her neck.

can i name my danger?

the top of   her head
the buried smell of   her sweat,
the corner of   her jawline
the hanger of her voice
the water wrapping around our bodies.

i want to tell the lawyers,
i’ve jumped through every hoop.
i’ve made my longing a hoop.
don’t you see—i would jump through my own arms
if it meant i could stay?

can i let myself want?
more than tomorrow, more than someone
to push open the emergency exit—

don’t leave me, she cries.

i mean to say, i stopped jumping. i promise.
from the far end of the shower, i say,
can i stay here?

stay, she says as i pull the plastic curtain back—
her stomach warm against my back,
the water now cold around us.
stay a little longer.

The source of each poem is found at the poem title links. Learn more about these excellent poets by clicking on the link of the poet’s name.  Click on images to enlarge them.

The word we are writing to today is turn
or a word that has turn in it.

Once again, we have come to the place where you put your proverbial pen to paper and warm it with your poetic spirit’s will in words.

• Pen us a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word turn.
• Post your Quadrille piece on your blog and link back to this post.
• Place the link to your actual post (not your blog url) on the Mister Linky page.
• Don’t forget to check the little box to accept use/privacy policy.
• Please visit other blogs and comment on their posts!
• Have fun (but only if you want to!)