There is a way out of the forest;
I truly believe that.
And in the meantime,
I have my candle for light.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Today, I let the sand
massage my feet
and the sea
wash the lethargy from my legs.
Later, sitting on the balcony,
my arms lift themselves
high above my head
in quiet celebration of that.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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A generator’s purr
removes crickets and cars
and a man with a back bum
tears up the landscape.
I watch small children dancing
without making a noise,
and chase after lifelike toys
that scamper around on twig legs.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Like a bird with clipped wings
I can no longer fly
and I don’t know
how to navigate this.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Today, the vertigo is back
and my energy is flying around
like rabbits.
Gravity has become my enemy
and I cannot lie still enough.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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The moth that I admired on the balcony
is now inside my house
partaking of things
I did not consent to give.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Down by the bins
there is a bag full of clothes
and an Indian lady with an ironing-board
pulling things out.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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The river today stagnates,
and the air around it is pillow-thick
and heavy like soup;
…the kind that comes in off the sea as mist
and swallows you
(and everything else that surrounds you)
up.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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This morning it smells of cut grass and summer
and there’s a wetness in the air.
On my legs, my tights stick
and already my jumper is too hot.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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The raindrops on the washing line
look pretty after the storm.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Rebecca L. Atherton 