Poem
Peter Fallon
A SUMMER FLOOD
A SUMMER FLOOD
A SUMMER FLOOD
Again, I went outto the new wood
because, at times as these
it is a true good
to be alone
among the tree
I planted and trans-
planted, and an ease
among steadfast companions
to be one who believes
that answers can emerge
in leaves.
There was disquiet
in the house, a whirl-
wind in the ways and days
of our most lovely girl.
They stroked her like water
(that is, everywhere), the worries
and the woes, first deaths,
her teenage tragedies.
How live two lives
of here and there?
(Wherever ‘there’ may be.)
May she pause (I make my prayer),
like salmon in the estuary –
our daughter –
acclimatizing
to fresh water
en route
towards a stay in gravelly mud
and waiting for
a summer flood
to tide them
over. Now contrails
scratch the sky. I watch
the mayfly hatch.
And then what had been
leafage in the night
began to ruffle
feathers, ready to take flight,
and birdsong happened
for me – no, for us
all – solo first,
then in chorus.
© 2014, Peter Fallon
From: Strong, My Love
Publisher: Gallery Press, Oldcastle
From: Strong, My Love
Publisher: Gallery Press, Oldcastle
Poems
Poems of Peter Fallon
Close
A SUMMER FLOOD
Again, I went outto the new wood
because, at times as these
it is a true good
to be alone
among the tree
I planted and trans-
planted, and an ease
among steadfast companions
to be one who believes
that answers can emerge
in leaves.
There was disquiet
in the house, a whirl-
wind in the ways and days
of our most lovely girl.
They stroked her like water
(that is, everywhere), the worries
and the woes, first deaths,
her teenage tragedies.
How live two lives
of here and there?
(Wherever ‘there’ may be.)
May she pause (I make my prayer),
like salmon in the estuary –
our daughter –
acclimatizing
to fresh water
en route
towards a stay in gravelly mud
and waiting for
a summer flood
to tide them
over. Now contrails
scratch the sky. I watch
the mayfly hatch.
And then what had been
leafage in the night
began to ruffle
feathers, ready to take flight,
and birdsong happened
for me – no, for us
all – solo first,
then in chorus.
From: Strong, My Love
A SUMMER FLOOD
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