Pied Piper
I will lead you like the falcon
who lusts over mice scuttering
across the fields.
I will lead you like the dawn
who hounds night-time into the sea,
the tornado who throws the pine trees down.
I will lead you like the children
who followed my flute, fading
into the dark mountain.
When we make the mountain turn us loose,
you and I will be the flute,
calling out our own echoes
to bring the world to us again.
Fish Story
Night-boat pushes through darkness.
Cargo of tangled threads I try
in the morning to gloss into words.
This is the dream-work: to weave, to unweave.
Michèle Roberts, Penelope awaits the return of Ulysses
We push off into the lagoon,
our white skiff on a glittering day
slips past grasses and skirts the shallows
easily.
Our shadow follows us on sand: a
night-boat pushes through darkness.
Perhaps the shadow helps us float,
perhaps it’s pushing us out to sea,
we aren’t sure.
A bite! I start and yank too fast,
my line snaps back and snarls into a
cargo of tangled threads I try
to restore to reason. Dark clouds
roll in across your face.
Quickly I cut
the knot through, into shreds
which I carefully save and intend
in the morning to gloss into words.
“Remember when?” We’ll laugh
as we tell of another one that got away
constructing
an angled line of success, of fishes
exceeding our wildest hopes.
This is the dream-work: to weave, to unweave.
Mary Cresswell is from Los Angeles and lives on the Kapiti Coast of New Zealand. She’s a retired science editor, took up poetry (both light verse and serious) as a pastime, and is now truly addicted. Her third book, Trace Fossils, was published in early 2011. This is her first appearance in Lavender Review, and she’s very pleased to be here.
