I am the hidden underside of things,
roots stretching twisted into the abyss,
no warm crumbs of soil give me cling.
Chilling wind circles, probing each
bare surface, freezing salt.
Eyes rolling blindly find no light.
This narrow perch of brokenness
binds the touch of my frozen flesh
to ice so cold it is also fire.
My contribution to Christine’s Invitation to Poetry
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
I really love this poem Tess, the first and last lines are especially strong images to me — the hidden underside of things and ice so cold it is fire. Wonderful. Thanks for the contribution!
Tess, please forgive my intrusion on this beautiful poem that you have written – I’m not great at often interpreting or really understaending poetry. It’s something I work at, so my comments would seem feeble in the light of your piece!
The intrusion is that I would love the blogsite of The Ironic Catholic – Susan Daoust – she did the piece on Northwoods Contemplative site a month or so ago; about the Amish, forgiveness, etc. She’s written me a reply to one of my posts regarding her piece and I want to comment upon it….? Happen to have her contact info?
I can’t find NWC anymore either; sabbatical from public blogging?
Warmest regards, SS
Wow! Is that graphic. I could picture a few of my different photos just with those words.
A “WOW” from me, too. On a day when I’m feeling really fractured, scattered and lost, this speaks to me.
whew…powerful stuff, tess!!! i can’t decide if i feel chilled or warm after reading this…thus says “ice so cold it is also fire.”
Thank you all. I just saw roots immediately instead of the branches on Christine’s photograph, and it drew me in from there.
SS, hope you managed to get in touch with Susan from the link I sent you.
Not feeling poetic at the moment – have crammed six days’ work into four at the office so far this week and am faced with a train strike tomorrow. Oh dear, moan, moan!