10
Emotions ooze like oil spills,
tarring the bird in the cage of our chests.
The river at night is a different oil spill.
Lit from within, houses that line the valley are torches.
I didn’t see the deer.
Dusky light. My heart swerved.
Moving water is always in the present tense.
And we’re stranded on shore.
Saudade.
Saudade.
4 comments:
I had to look up "saudade" - what a beautiful word.
- the only known word that translates directly to Welsh "hiraeth" - who knew.
Lovely, Ian.
I had to look it up too! And agree -- beautiful. I'm really curious to see how this fits in with the rest of your pieces.
oh how interesting, "moving water is always in the present tense. And/we're stranded on shore"...
how very, very interesting
thank you for shaking things up like this
Hi Ian,
Great mood in this poem. Like the pacing and the leaps.
Love my heart swerved.
Wonder about the opening line, if "emotions ooze like oil spills" needs to be said? I wonder about opening with: "The river at night an oil spill, tarring the bird in the cage of our chests."
Thanks for the poem.
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