Wednesday, October 15, 2014

poem: shelf-life

I'm just home from our diocesan clergy conference. It's funny how even three days can cause a feeling of disconnectedness. Even pulling into the drive-way felt strange. Stranger still was knowing that I'd be out at different meetings around the parish within a few hours, and the distance of that moment would be only a memory.

In the house, unpacking, helping with small chores, a box was knocked over. Picking stuff up from the floor, I found a sheet of paper. It had some writing on it, mine, written in fountain pen, using red ink ... well red originally - faded to a kind of brown know. It was a poem, dated 4 Feb '93. I don't remember writing it, but yet I do, if that makes any sense. Anyway, here it is:

   is unshelled
   into the universe

   by the fragile
   of his cocoon

Wet, he trembles
   on his shattered

And, pecking, begins
   his preparations
   for the table

No comments:

Post a Comment