by Sarah Black
Some years the glacier still inches forward and that’s the story
that interests most; recessions only sell papers tracing the currency
flow. If I’ve come here for reassurance it won’t show
on my face because the ground is uneven, it’s taking all my effort
just to walk straight. On a clear sunny day even the helicopters
make hay, carrying eager families to the last vestiges of the age.
Above the town, their cicada love song vibrates, proving that any hymn
will do, any mindless tune will soothe paupers hunting gold
in the towering moraines. With my one small eye I’ve seen forests
that tell me that everything will hardly be ok, I’ve seen flight maps
and their greenly glorious rendition of a world that almost was.
Sarah is a poet and photographer from Melbourne, Australia, where she shares life with her family of six. Having directed her creative efforts over recent years into photography, she has recently deepened her attention to her first love, poetry. Click here to visit her website.