By Chris Ringrose
sometimes they arrive like a fox with a mouthful of feathers
because somewhere, something has died or been eaten alive
or they startle you like the clapping of pigeon wings – a spasm of applause in a silent wood –
an idea stirring up there in the wet branches, one you’d half forgotten
others push their way out of dreams, in the way tiny quills would poke through a feather bed
or goose down pillow, to remind you of all you are resting on
but the best of them drift down like a blessing, rocking like an airborne cradle
to land between the gold of the nib and the cream of the paper
with a message from the bird who’s already flown
Chris Ringrose is a writer of poetry and fiction who lives in Melbourne, Australia. His latest poetry collection is Palmistry (ICoE Press, Melbourne, 2016). Creative Lives, a collection of interviews with South Asian writers, was published by Ibidem Press, Stuttgart, in 2021. His poetry website is http://www.cringrose.com
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.
Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles
Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International
Borderless 