Ode to residencies

With every storm,

every tear,

this dust particle moves,

with every breeze

and every sigh,

it flies.

Maybe I was fathered by a mountain

maybe my mother was a river

in whose bosom I rolled,

I do not know.

but I move,

sometimes of volition,

sometimes by love.

where is my journey's end,

I ask again.

In a forgotten ocean

or a heartbeat?

I cannot answer,

but sometimes

I wish I knew more

about my residences.

And my residencies.

[From the collection 'Threads', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award, 2007]

LEAVE A COMMENT