The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Friday, 12 July 2013
journal poem (at Emerson College)
Six o'clock, no one else around
and after these weeks of rain
summer stepping lightly into the garden –
a pelt of dew, one magpie
the evening primrose blowsy, incandescent
P's poetry still knocking at the drumskin of my chest
trails of geese, juvenile voices harsh, untuned
and the morning pond a sky
big enough to drown in and never know it
me leaning against a tree
innocent of motive or intent
waiting for tea to brew
and then without warning you
walking the summer lawn ahead of me
your footprints fading out at the trees
© Roselle Angwin
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