No elegy is only for one quarter of the earth.
I’ve known another country where
the single man who spoke my language
was named Mr. Sorrows
and had come to be there by shipwreck.
He explained to me why monkeys inhabit trees
and fish, the sea, how birds got feathers
to rise from water but kept their webbed feet,
why we live in memory
and, when we leave a place,
wings spread wide, we might think,
our old ways are still folded between our toes,
into our deepest furrows.
He told tales of origin
while his land was held apart from him
by an ocean, an element
no human body was made to enter
and from which we will not ascend.
Rose McLarney | Exotica
Contents | Mudlark No. 51 (2013)