From the Plains The day began with a nor wester, storms expected by nightfall. The wind blew wildly as if you could soon be the last person on the planet. Blinds rattled. Doors slammed. People of the plains fear what can’t be seen. Clouds brightened to red changing, changing. On the veranda, I painted a blanket of land and sky to wrap about me to sleep inside till dawn. What Trees Remember Holding their space in the forest, trees remember starlight filtering to warm, dark earth and the sound of the violin before the violin was made. Bark gathering moss, trees recall giant birds flying from mountains and songs made by fluttering wings as birds built their nests. Touching branch to branch, trees share stories of sailing ships their ancestors held inside before the world became a globe. Books and newspapers come and go. Trees think back to when the first seed split. The Empty Seat Our walks beside water, punctuated by gnarled sticks and steep steps took us above thoughts we carried, across long grass to where we could read beyond the story so far, the history of bodies and bones. Who was it, we asked, who made this place? But not on the first visit, not right away. Repeated, the walk became a ritual something known, but still holding mysteries like a quest. The last time we got as far as the seat we saw its frame clasped to sky and cloud, sniffed in the breeze the season changing. Michael Mintrom Michael Mintrom is from Aotearoa New Zealand and lives in Australia. His poems have appeared in various literary journals in those two countries, such as Landfall, Meanjin, Meniscus, takahē and Westerly. Other recent work can be found in The Drabble, The Ekphrastic Review, Literary Yard, The Metaworker, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, and Shot Glass Journal.
1 Comment
David Belcher
1/30/2023 02:26:47 pm
Emotive and atmospheric, enjoyed these very much.
Reply
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
The Ekphrastic Review
COOKIES/PRIVACY
This site uses cookies to deliver your best navigation experience this time and next. Continuing here means you consent to cookies. Thank you. Join us on Facebook:
December 2024
|