Martha, to herself by Kate Millar (Lucent Dreaming Issue 10)

Due to limited control of our formatting on posts, the formatting of the following poem is incorrect.

           I noticed it             

                (myself)

when I couldn’t find it

     I went to there to align

myself

            with nature

the sibilance of my breathing

the water tumbling over itself

the smell of dirt and water

      and the memory of wind

                 careful of

where to place

     my eyes

I searched for the sublime

           in the stone

        coming up for breath

           in the middle of the stream

in the –

  it wasn’t May yet

             the only colours I could

         find

       pale green

and brown        

but it kept forcing itself into my periphery

       I refused to see it

      the sleeping mudbank

dirt for flesh and dry grass for fur

a Coca-Cola can lodged in its hide

dusty grey tarpaulin like a fin in the sand.

I wasn’t demanding the river to

         revise itself

     but I sat there

willing

all the seeds of the earth to grow at once

      spell out some revelation

the trees were swollen pink with rain and the riverwater was not silver.

dull brown with rippling welts of reflected light

I don’t want to see

ugliness wedged into the earth

(myself)

someone once said that there was no difference

between looking at art

   or away from it,

but my contacts have dried out from staring


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Lucent Dreaming is an independent creative writing magazine publishing beautiful, imaginative and surreal short stories, poetry and artwork from emerging authors and artists worldwide. Subscribe to Lucent Dreaming now, support us on Patreon and follow us on TwitterFacebook and Instagram

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