Friday, April 08, 2011

Vanishing Point

Euch, sick and aching today. Still, the first lines of this poem buzzed round my head all day as I lay in bed, and I've hacked out something to follow them.


Vanishing point



Perhaps it’s fitting
I put my faith in small things
having so little:

the bars of my cell
phone, calling to tell
you I’m far from home
and floating
into the telescopic future

where the sky threatens to fall,
and every story ends with a brick wall.
in the face. Still, we can shrink
to the size of dust motes, sink
to a dreaming size, drift as
invisible atoms, swarm into chambers.

disembodied voices tell me
we can split
clean in half
without breaking
god’s heart.

I doubt it, yet I’m willing
to follow my two year old
son, as he tips, and trips
over his own feet, not watching
where he’s going, fixed only
on the brightest thing
in his immediate surrounds.

There he goes
again, face
in the dirt, and me chasing him,
forever, pinning
hope
on his open mouth and crossing
my fingers the last trip
lands softly

4 comments:

Erobintica said...

you do very well for sick and aching. ;)

misternoble said...

You and Shanna -- strong and sturdy in your language. It lifts my heart.

Jo said...

Yes, I agree, it's excellent. I'll have to come back and read it again. Hope you feel better xx

Shanna Germain said...

<3 this so much. And I'm using a million <3s today to honor bill's poem too!

:)