Posted 30.08.11 in Writing
If we talk, back home
it is always in double meaning
Words flung in the air simply
to fill the gaps
flung up like discarded clothing,
sampling the air for a brighter consistency.
We miss more than the humidity
notices the starkness of each breath.
My blisters stain me with reality,
but today I walked bare foot.
The gulls circle the same piece
of ground, searching for answers.
My brother points them out
our new job is to watch them,
mould the sky like playdoh;
between the warm palms of our hands.
Heads back, body clammy in the sun
surveying the horizon for you.
Clare Pollard says: This is a melancholy, haunting poem. It seems to be about how travel takes us out of ourselves, and makes us see the world differently – there’s a sense that everything has become strange. I like the mixture of the philosophical with realistic details – the blisters, the body ‘clammy’ in the sun. And I love the image of moulding the sky ‘like play-doh’. There is a real yearning in this poem – even the gulls want ‘answers’. It suggests that holidays are the one time we sit back and contemplate the meaning of life.
This poem was written as part of the poem postcard exchange, see the original Challenge!
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