Poetry

The Dividing Line

The morning after
the sky feels vaster than before. A grey
expanse, where a lone gull glides on an upstream

which carries the bird over the surf – a dividing
line that is always in flux. It floats
without fear, because that is the natural order of things,

the laws we all must obey. In these parts the tide
comes in twice a day. Perhaps this is my time.
Perhaps the expansive sky connects sooner than it divides.

The string of a kite, this piece of strand, a thin narrative,
I have woven out of a few words. I hold on to it
to keep myself from drifting out to sea.

If you hold on to the other end, we will be
under the same sky, always. You may wish to glide
over lines, surfs, ridges, reefs – it won’t matter,

because the tide will always come in and go out, a succession,
an order without which we couldn’t exist.

 

Soothing Things with a Hint of Melancholy

  1. Grass, not the freshly-cut kind, but the kind that has been drying in the late-afternoon sun’s warmth.
  2. The oily, herbaceous sweetness of rosehips decaying on the bush in the late summer.
  3. The simultaneous hiss of the espresso machine with the dispersing earthy citrus-and-almond aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.
  4. The round piano tones of Carole King’s album Tapestry, with its lyrics that softly enter your thoughts as if on stocking feet and make you take stock of your life.
  5. Pouring more gravy over a cottage pie about halfway through and pausing for a few seconds before you continue eating.