The day I name the way
a maze
it begins to own a bit of me,
and I lay
my claim on a patch of its length
that circles
an overgrown shrub, the time-eaten wall
and a shameless body of muddy water.
At one point
I feel the desire to leave the maze
drying, dying.
From hollow in my abdomen
an eclipse of moths swirl out.
The sun relents;
crickets croon some troubled Sinéad.
On a rock I sit.
Again I walk, stumble upon a upturned
perambulator.
Shadows ebb and tide once more.
I recall the time
my body used to grow and the point
it stopped.
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to editor@madrascourier.com
