A poem about leaving my childhood home, inspired by Kevin Goodan’s (to crave what the light does crave).
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to crave what the light does crave
to shelter, to flee
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To grasp October breath
between chipped lips
and know each molecule I taste
to stamp the squares
of a rubber sole
into hoof-trod earth,
to secrete into animal
to twist a rift in new grass
and ground, leave a word in whistles
across the blades
to pick the blackberry, to compress
its many heads
over thumb and finger, to see
its blood blisters pop and run
to pore the cliff’s sandstone skin
leaving dirt clots in fingernails
releasing when the sand runs out
laying olives to rest on green tarp
lying down beside their pits
to mimic the falling, the rooting
shout fingers into dirt
and ask with my prints
to burn for what it burns
Ceciley Pund 