The Landing No fisherman, he, though his boat glides below a fishbone moon suspended in the east behind him, thin moon that stains a moss-still sea: soft as silence, silver as serenity. Where the bow meets the salted dock he has come to the place of his slavery among a barbarous, knotted people: to cast moon-shadows deep into the waters of baptism; to lift instead the lamp of grace, of peace-- so to illumine their hearts. Murmurous, they descend the tumbling cliff: twisted, rough as trunks and earthen roots of trees, with glances over turned shoulders, blades whetted at the ready: to confront a man who comes with hands empty of all but prayer, though with a longing for their souls; one who stands in the shadow of crucified and hanging sails who is lit by a radiance brighter than the fullest moon, the sea, or any star, ignited with a passion fiercer than their weapons or the clamour of their war-mongering; bearing truth more salt, more sharp, than dagger blades. Lizzie Ballagher A published novelist between 1984 and 1996 in North America, the UK, Netherlands and Sweden (pen-name Elizabeth Gibson), Lizzie Ballagher now writes poetry rather than fiction. Her work has been featured in a variety of publications, including South-East Walker Magazine, Far East, Nitrogen House, The Ekphrastic Review, Nine Muses, and Poetry Space.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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May 2025
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