Poem for a geography teacher by Anna Livesey
Esker – the word like ‘whisper’,
saying of itself that it is the silence
left after water rubbed under ice,
after the molecules’ loose regard for each other,
their silky insinuation.
There is death in the world, you have noticed it;
sickness and worry travel close companions.
The ice moves slowly, plucking grit and rock,
cracking substrate, the pieces
picked up and dropped, picked up and dropped.
You can read more about Anna over at The Book Council.
There's a brief review of The Moonmen by Saradha Koirala.
You can buy The Moonmen over at Wheelers.
Thanks to Anna for the poem.
More Tuesday poems at Tuesday Poem.