It's just poetry, it won't bite


01.30.17 Posted in today's words by

By Catriona Knapman

(Jinotega, Nicaragua, 2009)

Times of silhouettes, long shadows, dry yawns, tight arms.
Times of cold floors, grass whispers, water mirrors.
Times when the lines of man can be undrawn.
A boat’s silhouette carves a half smile into dawn.

This is how to rise,
not in revolution, but in rhythm:
turn of the earth; song of the field;
flat untouched note of the lake.

As earth is turned by a spade,
he looks on sky stretching into day.
As corn is battered into flour,
she scrubs night’s stains away.

They pass at the shore
eye meeting eye. Shyness
etches a
clear shape in their hearts.

She kindles the oven
with new twigs
warms her hands at the flame.

He casts a long net
into deep water
waits for the sun to grow.

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