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Sounding the hull

Author: 
Lisa Matthews

I wanted a red hand, a pasting of sunset

over my becoming. There was a rain storm

and I felt the water heave beneath the boat.

 

If I had asked anything of you, I am sure

it would have been given. But this one thing,

it seems, is beyond you now, as it was back then.

 

I listened as the carpenter sounded the hull,

mindful of tiny imperfections in the grain:

a swollen tongue; a bitter sand-stained groove.

 

Homeward eyes said nothing new, as if all we

were was each other. I waited in a chair

in the corner. Come, tell me a tall tale.

 

From Chroma No 2 (Spring 2005)