Isle

The shape of a fisherman's face, a blasted red mask of ancient hope,
stonecold to his wife and child, but cradling a fish in his hands and
praying, like an Indian, to the spirit he has just taken.
Prehistoric bluffs cut into the land by the mighty clash —
a high buffer against the wash of lashing waves
and on the other side the half-moon shape of the softsand curving beach
becomes the pink cup that holds the sparkling sea.
And you know a kind hello always hides a blistering whisper.

I fall asleep at night gently rising and gently falling
with the moontide that guides the thin strands of my blood,
and I think of the uncountable spinning islands floating through a universe
long since hardened and splendidly ordered from its loose bubbled beginnings.
I am awakened by a slice of noise, a sparkly crack in the dark air.
I find that a gull, sneering, the most playful of all birds,
has dropped a cold hardclosed shell onto the warm sloping asphalt,
the shards now cutting deep into the soft wet pool of life inside.




 by Lars Trodson

Comments

  1. Lovely, and the line 'And you know a kind hello always hides a blistering whisper.' deserves to be the title of a novel, or a collection of poems, or a flash fiction, or ... Everyone should have the chance to meditate on that line. Thank you

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  2. This is really stunning. I especially love the visual images and the emotional depth of those first three lines, and the sharpness of the final two. Congratulations!

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