Out of Choice
This poem was inspired by a photograph by Jorge Rueda (Spain). Click here to view.
The realisation that I needed to wear a violent red, that I had put it on
me, out there, against a peaceful blue
all's hidden underneath my skin, and I thought, knew, that once
the disconnection waved in, the unsafety,
the red escaped and in an instant, alien became less distant, fluid
in my daily countenance. How I have always
assumed you were the rock and I the water, how it turned out
to be all the same. And me fully capable
of standing on stones in this fluidity of waves, in this distractive life. So once
I left the cliff edge, I felt the wind in my face,
felt the depth & distance again - and I know the cracks of then and
the hills of now, will become a passage
a progress, through the fragments I breathe, for the joy I choose.
You went along with a trust to my inner world
while you wouldn’t anyway. So I decided to wend my place, to dream up
some furnishing and survive nonetheless. Once your heart
has jumped out of your body, the rivers & tides bound to smooth over
and a structured daydreaming will bring out
the bright, fresh dawning I need to scare off the ghosts of my lost night,
a subverted realism to coast through
a clear consciousness over the guilt and some uneasy providence. What is
done, is done. True. One can only choose the waves so well.
Kate Copeland started absorbing stories ever since a little lass. Her love for words led her to teaching and translating some sweet languages, her love for art, lyrics and water led her to poetry ... with some readings and publications sealed already! She was born in Rotterdam some 52 ages ago and adores housesitting in the UK, US and Spain.
The Ekphrastic Review
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