Fish Out of Water Poem

Optokinetics and Others

by Joan Pond

Optokinetics

I can’t see you,

he would say

when wishing to shun.

What could I do

to make my presence known

again?

Relegated to a winter’s garden.

Fronds of fern

withered by frost,

and pines

with wintergreened tops.

Barely surviving in this solstice;

the penumbra of his light.

I sought clemency

while shivering

and seeking

his sight.

A Fish Out of Water

So far from ocean,

here.

No pounding waves or crashing surf.

As Nantucket weighs,

heavy and deep.

In my sleep

I hear bell-buoys.

It’s only a dehumidifier

droning,

as the engine of a ship.

Yet,

I turn and list

avoiding shoals and reefs.

Tossing in my sleep,

I’m a fish on dry land

with a sered eye

of rainbow.

Ship-wrecked.

I dream

of

home.

Mock Sun

Trumpet lilies

blare,

bright yellow;

as stamen and pistil

bellow,

from the throats

of xanthic flowers.

Unmuted,

they defy gravity,

along with the light of day.

Their slender stems

with whorls of painted leaves,

point heaven-ward;

in an orchestration

of

mock sun.

Meeting You

I remember certain

things.

Singing Christmas carols

to a street lamp

and snow falling,

yellow;

as after a dog pees;

meeting you

and how the novelty

never wore.

I remember

certain

things.

Recalling a Voice

You used to defy gravity.

Such imponderable buoyancy,

lifted me.

Then,

came the ballast

of your grief.

A millstone as incalculable

as the number of angels,

could fit on the head of a pin.

You claimed a voice within

could not be consoled.

So,

I wait by a silent phone;

hoping you’ll call,

lifting me

from the depths

of your despair.

But I need to hear

the voice

I recall.

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