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| A postcard from Paris' Shakespeare & Company via Tanya |
MERMAID
1.
She does not believe even in herself --
the first prismatic glimpse
of scale caught in the bathroom
mirror, flake of rainbow
she mistakes for a weird scab
Given to picking, she takes the Bic
to it, but it bleeds blue and doubles.
Another, another --
2.
From there to here's a blur. Sky
-scraper horizons then anemone
fields, jellyfish swirling as snow
once did -- carillon orchestras
without noise. It is this absence
of sound she loves and misses
most -- jackhammer at dawn,
another screaming child.
Somehow she made it to the sea.
Something carried her -- full-finned.
I can't even hear myself think
she'd complained, the mystery
now tones as a steal beam
drum: Will I survive? This current
I'm riding, does it feel? Tunnel
of water through water
Mist and foam, white travel.
There is some place we belong.
Lauren Goodwin Slaughter
from a lesson in smallness*
*this book of poetry came in the mail the other day. I ordered it on the advice of someone, but I can't remember who told me about it. Are you out there? Did I read about this beautiful book somewhere? Where? I love it.
Reader, what are you doing?
Oh my goodness. Exactly what I needed. Feel as if I sent you a real postcard and just got a full throated response in my mailbox. Love.
ReplyDeleteSometimes, I think books find you, E. They know, like animals, where they will be protected and loved.
ReplyDeleteI like that poem. I'm not one for poetry, mostly I don't understand, but sometimes I get feelings from poems. Feeling I understand and maybe that's the point of poetry, not sure.
ReplyDeleteAnd me, Katie has another staph infection. She's sick and feeling awful. She cries, I cry, we all cry. It's snowing today so it looks lovely, very Christmassy. I'm on my way to check on her to see if she's better or if she needs a trip to emerg and IV antibiotics. I don't like it when my baby doesn't feel good.
So, so beautiful. How did I miss this one?
ReplyDeleteI love what Liv said. Perfectly true.
Beautiful. Me Reading Orwell's The Road to Wigan Pier. As usual, completely out of season.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.