This selection, chosen by Guest Curator Kirsten Kowalewski, is from The Light We Cannot See by Anne Casey, released by Salmon Poetry in 2021.
Where gulls cry
I could tell you how the whole earth seems to end at this one place where the land falls cleanly into a tumultuous thundering— the relentless roar of furious millennia crashing iced cobalt against three hundred million years of vertical bituminous siltstone stubbornness, all overlaid with a violence of vivid greenness inconceivable until witnessed, where the sky splits open above—brewing caliginous charcoal yielding to an inevitability of iridescence, streaming shards spearing simmering drizzle-laden mists, all lit as if from within with an otherworldly luminosity approximating divinity, a scene so sharp yet ethereal, surreal, imprinted in a part of self within but apart that might burst from this pulsing bone-suit, this shadow-world flesh-mantle sheerly in the act of reliving that reminiscence. I could tell you all of that or I could say how much this exiled soul aches for home.
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