Dirt and Disorder

Searching for some sense of me, you found a

God’s-eye image of my home town on that

strange straight-faced peninsula, but


the piers from which I

launched my life so hungrily look

insignificant, as do the

 

deep-cut docks that held the

weighted ships my father sailed

widdershins around the world , while the

 

sandstone bluff is foreshortened, my

wild, unprotected playground

no longer unobserved.

 

It doesn’t look the same from space: it’s

too clean, too named, numbered, tamed when

what I remember is

divine dirt and disorder.

 

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Comments

  • Agatha-luise  On August 26, 2013 at 11:17 pm

    Well I guess space would tell the same to you. It looks different when you’re up high!

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