Windowpane

The cat rasps her claws on cabbage tree bark,
a note of bird, full chorus done.
Grasses wear a soft embalm. Twilight
could be ripped with engine roar
or the slam of a door, could be
pre-earthquake crackling. At the window
seeing through then seeing the through
— waved rippled glass
bubbled, a larger lozenge
you press your eye to:
edges fur, earth and tree,
all the old familiar ground
made queer. You live a moment of between
opened in a distraught glass. The glazier
left a perfect tear.
.
© Rhian Gallagher
.
~ published in Shift, Auckland University Press, 2011

Reproduced here with permission.

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This is part of what I wrote about “Windowpane’ when it first featured here on October 4, 2011:

‘I asked Rhian if I could feature Windowpane as my Tuesday Poem today because for me it has a strongly New Zealand feel, but also because of the deeply observational nature of the poem, and the way it captures that sense of experience and recollection, “now” and—in the same moment—“then.” ‘

Like all Rhian’s poetry, I feel “Windowpane” repays a re-read, so I am pleased to be shining the spotlight on it again as part of the re-feature series.

To read the rest of what I had to say in 2011, please click on:

Windowpane

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To check out the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Hub and other great poems from fellow Tuesday poets from around the world, click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.