Tin Symphony – Fiona Murphy

1.

The Clarence is cast wide
catching sky in its mouth,
drinking it in
until belly burst destruction.

2.

Clouds torn up till only threads remain.
Their heavy load now the
burden of banks and gravity-stitched,
earthbound few. Cars can’t run here.
Tinnies motor alongside the submerged levee

3.

At first water licked and softened
the gnashes that gnarl
the fields, seeping in till soaked.
Trespassing fences, climbing stairs
to slap floorboards set too low

4.

Trees pitching
like
little boats
on a sea

5.

Mosquito buzz — mighty, one note drone
relentless fixture of air
and skin
and

6.

Standing. Blinking back the brine
a rough fingered rub into each tear duct.
The tin symphony stilled, guilt
sounding like a trombone
heavy, certain, clear.

7.

Threadbare thoughts hollowed by hunger,
bumping up against the seeds sow by winters past.

8.

Welts rise.
A weary wakefulness within
and unshifted by the
slow walk south
over kinked road
watch the sky run over the land