I wonder where it is you’re going now?
Do you fly to the sun, or seek the cold?
You’ve learned to carry your own roots around
in your backpack, that one with the rainbow –
it’s fading now. That pack is growing old.
I’ve watched you fill it up, packing it tight
with clothes and books and boots and things you might
need one day. Empty, then fill it again,
because you want to, but can’t travel light.
Those heavy roots will not be cut. Your pain.
This is for two dVerse prompts – it’s dizain month, and I’ve used the theme of movement from Amaya’s Tuesday prompt.
All those cheap metaphors –
the road, the river
the road as if we’re heading somewhere burning fuel
not just circling spiralling burning time, but look –
we have direction
the river as if we’ll reach carried thoughtless
some open ocean see the sunlight on the water
and yet we circle round the stone steps up and down
waiting to dissolve us
in its swirling waters
fingerprint swirl thumbprint on the clouds
in the great sea
and all the while
we are spinning
out and away
Amaya is hosting at dVerse tonight, and we are looking at movement – our own movements, population movements, wherever the prompt takes us.
I hold myself as carefully as a glass of wine, each angle carved from the air, each movement crafted in bone, in flesh, in skin; my breath a liquid weight in my chest; my mind entangled by my own movement. I find my way through the air, I pin myself to the ground, I hold myself here.
Control of breathing
The slow sliding movement of
Muscle under skin