Silent Poetry Reading

Well, here, for better or worse, is my contribution to the Silent Online Poetry Reading, read about on Creating Text(iles), inspired by Grace's Poppies. This a poem I wrote a few years ago, that I have been editing like crazy the past half an hour. I was going to put up a Billy Collins poem, but I couldn't decide on a favorite. So, in spite of the danger of appearing incredibly narcissistic, here's something of my own. Nobody other than myself has ever read this, so we'll see how it goes down (I know my ma will have something to say.)

Could Just Be Crows

I sit here, so far from the ocean,
yet I'm sure I can hear the surf,
sure I can hear gulls,
calling madly to one another.

The only explanation must be
the earth, tilted on its axis,
spilling salt water into landlocked cities.

Or is it just the wind? And crows calling?

Doesn't matter, I can feel it anyway,
Feel the sand, gritty and giving
beneath wrinkled toes,
turning the bones in their matrix
so that by the end of the day,
feet ache with the surf.
I can see glass hiding in the shallows,
smooth and worn, surface cloudy
like an uncut gem, disguising its prior existence.

(A beer bottle perhaps? Or maybe a pair of glasses,
lost in the crashing waves, given up for lost
by the nearsighted fool who left them there
to be a gift for Neptune.)

Today, I am surrounded by
the endless noise of water
beating against sand, a sound that lingers
in some forgotten memory,
my mother's heartbeat perhaps,
lost inside to years of new experiences.

Or it could just be crows,
could just be the wind.

Sara Lukjanovs, 2004