MM#16–The Gods’ Fists

IMG_1752.jpg

The Gods’ Fists

The harsh needles of winter rain
that have battered my window, my heart
my sheltering roof
watered the salted stones that line the shore
these stones now shine like diamonds
as the Moon slips through.
Waves rise, spraying with fierce clatter
bits of broken glass, old nets, plastic bags and buoys
against the implacable cliff, dark and looming
and then a sound
a whimpering
a lonely cry:
I am sea
your birth place
I am choking
even as winter rides the turbulent wave
please, an ancient Orca named Nanny rises
please, a pod of porpoises follows our ship
please, a new drilling rig lifts the Franklin wreck
while the lakes, the great lakes and the birds that did not migrate
first freeze then melt.
The birds cry
and the gods appear
(they rarely appear alone)
and these tears flow
through rivers that weep,
the lakes that leak
but the sea does not whimper
beware
the Gods’ fists rise.

by Lutia Lausane, copyright Just Peachy Productions, 15 January 2016

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s