There was a time before these brown buildings
touched the sky at the same point
as the trees.
She does not remember it
but many of the other gulls record the fact
so mournfully;
as high pitched
folk songs.
It used to be
much warmer here,
and greener.
A flight from
woods to
sea
much more
beautiful.
She, of course
has never seen
the water,
its glistening
has yet to
blind her
beads
at the break
of dawn
in August.
Yet somehow
she knows
that she will
find her way
there,
when the longing
grows so deep
that she
can no longer sing
a folk song
about an ocean
that she
cannot
smell.
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I think this poem goes beautifully with your last one, Kerri- there is such beauty here and melancholy as well. Everything about this world is changing and I think your last lines, "that she
ReplyDeletecan no longer sing
a folk song
about an ocean
that she
cannot
smell."
could apply to just about everyone and everything that is sensitive to those changes.
Bravo, my friend.
:)
My picky brain wants to know what breed of gull hatches away from the sea but that aside the imagery is lovely. I like the idea of the gull mourning the loss of the countryside. There is something quite mournful about their call, isn’t there? I don't see the music as a 'folk song' though, a chant perhaps.
ReplyDeleteQuietly melancholic. A sense of loss?
ReplyDeleteEvocative writing. It expresses, in hushed tones, how overwhelming loneliness, borne of the desire to belong, can be.
ReplyDeleteThe poem has a sort of ghostly cadence to it, too, that all the more saddens me, as part of me (don't we all?) identifies with "She."