February 16, 2006
by A. Pseudonym
When we arrive
and are met by strange friends
strange like the fog on the redreed mudflats
that span the low tide around Incheon -
When we arrive
carrying so much we will not need
like the bus they hire to take us through the dark
six people to fill so much more space -
When we arrive
that minute initial of the coming years
contains not much of what will happen later
but its blank seconds begin it,
And we can feel it.
Openings can be so hairline small
just enough room to breathe once and then
again until the spread of life
fulfills.
|
2
favs |
1157 views
3 comments |
91 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
The author has not attached a note to this story.
Other stories by A. Pseudonym
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Pseudo (may I call you Psuedo?) - this has such a serediptitious meaning right now for me, I am at one of those "Openings(that) can be so hairline small". I feel it, and am doing it. So it gets a fav, but I think it would anyway, great thought pattern, well done. I would prefer the first "like" in 'strange like the fog' read 'strange as the fog', like is used way too often, but that's my choice (the bus needs to be 'like')
Thanks for posting this!
I really like this poem. I love the repeated line emphasis and the last word, last line. Sublime. Have faved.
Thanks very much!