Scattered
Here noses the warm beast
of riverstone into the envelope
of my folded hand. There the socket
she knocked from, the gap in the cairn
of a rocky family, the heavy tongue
of the water—pronouncing loss
loss loss all the way down to the sea.
At some point the dragged neck-weight
you were crumbled grey and was breathed out
and in along this gulping throat and no room left
in the caving mouth for any other word.
I weigh my choice stood tall, feathers of sun
through wattle’s rattle and the heart
of stone on the palm’s scale. To sink a gift
or pocket it: how each means letting go. Hard old
beast, my hand is opening: the wind shouts ash.
Scattered by Ankh Spice | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser
Ankh Spice is a poet from Aotearoa New Zealand. He's the author of The Water Engine (Femme Salvé Books, 2021). Ankh believes that poetry is our best attempt at saving us from ourselves.
