Earthed and 3 other poems
Sweeping remnants from lifes cold, passing sill, an Ecofeminist gaze traces the…
Read more βSweeping remnants, keys stilled, a bed is made, preparing for the final things.
For Dana Prescott
We sweep our leavings in a box, sift the dross,
find fit containers for what must come with us
into the imminent. It is time to put away glass
and tine, still the keys, shake the cocoon loose
of its spent hours, free from brush, from rag
each caked and careful tint. What traces we wish
to mark the world with, make them now. Then
fold the crease and fold the crease again. Pull
on clothes more suited to a different clime
of loneliness. Make the bed for someone else
to lie or love in as if a new and curious gift,
how we first arrived, unnamed, and were
held close. Like the rooms we return to,
readying ourselves for the day of final things.
Civitella Ranieri, 18 Sep 2022.