I
The oxter,
she called it,
that space
between
her chest
and bicep,
nooked-out
for me. Her
elbow rocked,
her fingers
tight at the
working yarn,
my body
cradled like a
glass milk bottle;
for whole
afternoons,
never warmer.
II
The lough
rushes up
into the oxter
of land where
my grandma
doubled her trousers
to her knees,
stooped
and fingered
into the bubbling
sand to pluck
out cockles
like ligaments
of beach-
muscle, wet
and veined –
grains clicking
in her teeth.
They burrow
down deeper
than me,
the tide
washing away
my attempts.
III
There’s this word
on the tip of
my pen,
sloshing about
in the bedding
of my ear;
it’s burrowing,
nustling into
the wet sand,
like the warm
vowel-heavy
churr of a
wood pigeon
calling invisibly
from the branchwork.
-
Author:
Ryan Robson-Bluer (
Offline) - Published: March 1st, 2023 14:36
- Comment from author about the poem: I've always found it hard to associate myself too strongly with my home. Psychometry, as well as having the word 'home' embedded within it, is the supernatural connection between physical touch and intimate knowledge. For me, the deeper I dig into my home, the less I want to be a part of it.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments2
Quite a long word there, yep - psychometry! Some have not the foggiest idea what it means. lol.
I tried to explain it a little in the description! As well as having the word 'home' embedded within it, it's a term for the supernatural connection that exists between physical touch and intimate knowledge, i.e. to touch something and know its past.
Oh I see, yes.
It's me being daft, staggering back in amazement at long words - oh, any words over about 5 letters long! lol.
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