Monday, November 02, 2009

Disbelieving fingers

Poem by Dunedin poet, Pam Morrison


OK, so I live in the city.

So I've never pressed
My ear to the earth
For its secrets

Never known the furtive 
Tug for water
From a forked rod

Or criss-crossed the land 
Until my soles are knowing
And tough as old boots

Yes, I've opened the dirt
A handful of times

Pressed in odd bulbs
With disbelieving fingers
Only to be baffled again
And again by the harvest

But get this

Old magic, God of Abraham
Call it what you will
Is still thick as thieves
With this urban girl

How else could it be 
That here I am
Humming from the bone

Damn smack in the middle 
On that still point
You call destiny


  1. Love this! There's something so solid and real about it. Hope I can read it in her book one day!

  2. I hope to do the same, Kay - to read this in her book!