Tuesday Poem: Homing
Homing
He hears it, in every slap
of wave against wood,
as the ship cleaves water
like a seabird, hears the word
that he has hungered for
through the lost years,
whispered to him now
by the sea as it bears him up,
speeds him on like a lover
to the consummation
of his long-held dream
of home: home, lilts the sea,
soft as a lullaby, and home,
sings the wind, slipping
through rigging, soothing
him to rest, not to wake
even as a clear dawn
pares away night, reveals
rocky shores and a green crag
rising, not even to stir
when they lift him
over the bulwark and down,
splashing through shallows
to leave him on shadowed sand,
tender as a child smiling
in his sleep, and dreaming,
dreaming still
of the long returning.
(c) Helen Lowe
Published in JAAM 26 2008 (Aug/Sept)
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it’s lovely Helen…mystical and tender.
Thank you, Helen.:)
This has a soft lilt to it all the way through. I enjoy the rhythm and feel of it, Helen. Also, speaking of Home, I also have recently read your short story Cold Cass — good stuff, and thanks for pointing me there! 🙂
Glad you liked, Michelle, both the poem & “Cold Cass”–am off to check out your Tuesday choice, “Cactus” now.:)
PS You know that “Cass” is a real place, right? Made famous in the painting by Rita Angus?