Sunday, January 31, 2010

Back Home

by Zola Hjelm

Hear the clank of feet on wood planks
Hear my steps like the bad seed clapping her shoes
god’s lightning never comes
But the ship’s whistle does
and parts us from the pier
Even crossed arms can not defeat wet cold
salt lies stiff in hair,
lashes, brows
takes in my clammy hands
like a lover I never could keep
I tremble, not from cold
nor from this ship which caught a whale’s rumble-
that shook platforms
It was the anxiety of lost childhood
Speaking clear in my ear
heavenly tones ringing the call
to home.
I still own a coat’s accidental playground tumble
still own pockets of childlike bliss
still own that frivolous comfort pushing me on neighborhood swings-
There is no ride taking me back
and sand between these creases of clothes
are now all but an edition of time,
slipping through fingers
hyperextended from premature hands
ignorant of the physics on grasping an object
Grains fall to the motherland
a place accurate- but seemingly so inapt
And the gates are closed, golden closed, silver closed, closed in brass
and blessings.


  1. this is amazing.

  2. This is very nice. Good job. Ending very strong.