The ocean was hungry and the land thirsty
What happened next--the fish know, I presume
They know enough to keep me sitting in a glass bowl
In front of a window made of chromatophores
I don't know whose cells or whose brain still dreams
Of windows or why my wrist stings when the day
Changes.
I can look up into the night water, always dark
A slow murmur as the top leaks air into the planets
Whose stomachs glitter in the shallow black.
The window changes and the fabric falls
I close my eyes, feel my throat flex--fish fly
I tell myself. They always have. The thick air
Shivers.
Sharing today with The Sunday Muse and Poets and Storytellers United. The image above was shared by The Muse and it made me slightly sad, as everything seems to, lately. I'm finding it hard to read books where people gather in universities (re-reading Sayers); where things like going to a restaurant is taken for granted. Melodrama skates over a sliver of grief and trips over anger, draining so fast into sorrow that you're dragged for a breathless minute down. That isn't what I want to bring out of this, however. I'm working on a fairy tale inspired by all the time I've been spending in my backyard...I'm hoping it's the rich and strange thing that rises to the surface (or glitters from the seabed) when it's finished. Thanks for reading and may your week rise on hope.
-- Chrissa
You had me at the ocean was hungry! I think we are all hungry for the connections we took so for granted before. This is swimming in a certain sorrow but flowing with a true hope. Lovely as always Chrissa. I look forward to your glittering fairy tale and I hope your week is as inspiring as you my friend. 🌹🦋
ReplyDeleteWell done ... poem and notes. I immediately connected to both. Stay well.
ReplyDeleteI love "I dont know whose brain still dreams of windows" and the flying fish. Glad you are gardening, and writing a fairy tale. Stay hopeful, Chrissa. It will get better.
ReplyDeleteNow we are in the fishbowl as the world continues much without us.
ReplyDeleteI love your magical flying fish! I'm not sure, however, that I love what's happening to the fish, and the oceans, and, oh, the entire planet.
ReplyDeleteLuv the images you used to craft this incredible write. Happy and safe Sunday to you Chrissa. Thanks for dropping by my sumie Sunday
ReplyDeleteMuch💚love
And I wonder, who are the fish as we lookout our windows dreaming of swimming along with goldfish...
ReplyDeleteGood luck on the fairy tale and enjoy your moments outside.
peace and sunlight...
"I can look up into the night water, always dark," this image stood out for me, so often it is that nature mirrors what we sense and feel within.
ReplyDeleteThese days, most of us do feel like we are living in a bubble.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to the backyard-inspired fairy tale!
Nice, Chrissa, and fun to read. I'd shiver too if fish were flying around my thick bod. Oh yes, treat your green thumb nice, outs got tired out helping with Mom's garden.
ReplyDelete..
"I can look up into the night water, always dark," - this line stands out to me too.
ReplyDeleteOne day, hopefully soon, there will be light again and we will have learnt to appreciate life outside the bubble we find ourselves in and understand more, those who are condemned to life in other unwanted bubbles, hopefully...
Anna :o]
Looking up into dark night waters definitely gives me the shivers. Find one of those glitters and ride it out past swirling fish to freedom!
ReplyDelete"A slow murmur as the top leaks air into the planets
ReplyDeleteWhose stomachs glitter in the shallow black." -- that's terrific!
I enjoyed this surreal poem and picture and especially loved "A slow murmur as the top leaks air into the planets" and "The thick air
ReplyDeleteShivers."
Thank you for your lovely poem and kind words. I too find myself on the verge of tears. I also spend a lot of time in my back yard where I can see the desert blooming. I know you can write a great fairy tale. Nice to make such good use of your time.
ReplyDeleteThese are indeed sad times, Chrissa, and I know what you mean about reading books where meeting up with people and going to a restaurant are taken for granted. Fairy tales offer a much-needed escape route. I love the opening line of your poem – the ocean is hungry so much of the time – it’s eating the coastline near to where I live. - and the lines:
ReplyDelete‘I can look up into the night water, always dark
A slow murmur as the top leaks air into the planets
Whose stomachs glitter in the shallow black’.
Your note is a poem in itself. And your poem is fascinating.
ReplyDeleteThis is amazing writing...
ReplyDeleteThis does such a good job at creating an unsettling feeling of confinement. You can almost feel the scream on the edge of the speaker's throat.
ReplyDeleteI am also very interested to read your fairy tale when it is ready.
I read this as a sad reflection. "I can look up into the night water, always dark" - striking words.
ReplyDeleteI love, the ocean was hungry/and the land thirsty.
ReplyDelete