Hafvilla I
| Wyndreth Berginsdottir |
|
I drift deep
over bones sighing, restless wave-clad, sea-spun where none now know my name but this scant handful of birds. Shadows pass beneath dark and large as shipwrecks. When the strakes creak I do not look down. I do not look down. The sun sails, changes places with the moon while stars ease ever into shapes I cannot read. The sky one dark sea The sea one rough sky and I drift between, my dull eyes full of salt. My grandmothers are singing cold songs among the weeds, songs that spread in circles. “Child,” they sing, “Beware. Your blood is full of brine, your ship rides low and your bones, your bones, they will not float for long.” © 2/29/2008 karen kahan |
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