Tuesday, August 31, 2010


The light is a gift, it shakes down through the sycamore trees, catches the edges of leaves, illuminates a piece of patterned cloth tied to a branch. As it hits a sheet on a washing line, making the whole white square glow like a screen about to show a film, it also spills over me and my son, hanging the washing. It turns his fine, silky hair to copper, mine to gold. Makes the clothes dance on the line as they hang there, worn by the air, filled with readiness, shimmering with tomorrow’s shadows. The darkness is also a gift.


Jo said...

Beautiful, Nikki. A Celestial moment - like in Black Rook in Rainy Weather:

...A certain minor light may still
Leap incandescent

Out of the kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then ---
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love...

Craig Sorensen said...

A gift indeed. I love it.

Nikki Magennis said...

Jo, thanks for the poem - I didn't know that one, and I love Plath.

Cheers, Craig!