New York City skyline at night

Poetry



Spring 2013

 

 


Alison Woods


On Being Ordinary

Unrealistic to think we stand out
any more than the golden flash
of some small fish making its way
in a life concentrated by blue and the undependable sun.

There comes a time when we become certain
what lies beyond this tangle of seaweed and broken shell.
There is the desire to find one place that is not water.
Tasseled with unseen currents, our bodies are preserved in salt like this.

Loneliness comes from a horizon far from touch and quick
to disappear. Lather peaks and copper sheen melts along the surface
as if even the sun gives way to something. One day,
white sand covers his one fish-eye, without ceremony.

The sun steps out of its blue-green sock,
basking in its own brilliant reflection.

 

 

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