Issue 10


Winter 2014

 

Sound Scan



In the plastic sleeve of my passport
amongst the scraps of journeys made –

barcodes for baggage, boarding card, a single
toothpick – I carry a foggy print out, an image

ultra-sounded in my own dark spaces
where a pulse scallops out a small sea of dots.

No whales here, their sonorous bulk
descending in stately dives.

No smooth-skinned dolphins leaping waves
and schooling fish in greater things –

no coral gardens grazed by wrass
nor submarines sound-scaping the ocean bottom.

Only the fat ripeness of hope measured out
in millimetres and fit to burst in the darkness.

 

______________________________

Tracey O'Rourke

 

 

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