Ekphrasis

Chaos-6 ~ by Narcisse-Shrapnel (Deviantart)

A child, with arms wide, paddles

in the slosh of a shallow brook after rain,

humming, humming,

and wondering

how far waves can roll upstream from the sea.

Everything is grey.

        

Her hat is too big – it covers her ears

and makes her tune hollow

and far away.

The forest doesn’t listen anymore.

When she was smaller, her father hung

yoghurt pots in the branches

to amplify her voice. On a shingle beach,

crashes of waves

e c h o a n d e c h o ,

trembling through plastic, roots and bone.

        

Now the trees close themselves

around her and shake their rusted leaves,

trying to shed

their ashes.

        

She carries a bucket of red paint;

one hand bleeds the bank-side bushes

with a sable-hair brush, like rapping

a stick along schoolyard railings.

                                        

Marching now, she imagines the city

with waters running through its streets

and the beaded amber streetlights paddling

in a shimmer

of sliding reflections.

                        

Fallen from her pocket, dried apricot pieces

float by, half-coloured red

like flowers timid for summer.

                        

In noisy places,

it is hard to remember a half-forgotten tune,

though it might murmur with the patter of rainfall

and whisper like a boat along threads.

She would paint fish and musical notes

on the skyscraper roofs

where the telephone wires knot like dead lighting,

 if she could reach,

so that God might see  

her talent            and give her more colours

to paint all

that she

half-forgets

and all the rain washes

a    w       a          y

on a greyer

yesterday.