Crossing borders
barefooted in the early fall
shell-sharp
jelly(soft)-fish
the tang of rotting seaweed
just below the new layer
of sand — and last night’s storm
surge also brought
a lemon
a head of cabbage
a potato
a plastic armrest
the ebbing tide exposes
the gasping underground life
the greater sand plovers run
out, and back again, out and —
you know how the story goes.
I’m going to tell you a story
— but you knew that.
I lost a tooth
and that’s the wretched
whole of it.
Surely, you’ve had that dream:
not a baby tooth, but a last-chance tooth
a this-is-what-you-get tooth
a take-good-care-this-time-’round
Choking just a little
on the trickle of blood
down your throat
as all your bones let loose
of the soft bits
and you come apart like bread
in water
(Impermanence. Mad Orphan Lit., 2021)
Though these poems are deeply influenced by my response to the attacks in Oslo and Utøya in 2011, Impermanence isn’t about that terrible day. It’s not even about death — though it is a meditation on how things fall apart, including our bodies.
Someday I may write more specifically about July 22, 2011: how the grief was simultaneously mine and not mine.
But for now: on July 23rd, 2011, while I was running along the beach, I was smacked by the absurdity that I wasn’t dodging the usual bird carcasses that morning (that would have been a tidy metaphor). Instead, I found a lemon, a head of cabbage, and a potato in the surf. I felt like the universe was mocking the absurdity of all those deaths, trying to overwhelm me with meaninglessness. Maybe forcing me — by the means of a summer salad — to make meaning.
Thank you for taking the time to read/listen.
I hope you have a great week!
Warmly,
Ren Powell’s Acts of a Recovering Drama Queen
Writing against Melodrama by Engaging with the Natural World
Give some love. It only takes a little ❤️.
Is this your own poem, Ren? I like it.