Retreat

By STEVIE RONNIE

Here are the ducks beaking for a mate,

ink leaks from a pen, a robin settles

in the birch’s oxter, the loch’s there

long and letting something to sea.

 

Here is a roof made of turf, a ring

of pines around the mountain’s base.

Here is a nuclear submarine painted black

being escorted into the estuary.

 

Here I am in the estuary writing something,

here I am writing something, in the estuary of

writing something. Here I am by this sea

loch clocking in with the undertow.

 

 

Stevie Ronnie is an award-winning writer, artist and creative researcher based in the UK.

Photo from Flickr Creative Commons

Retreat

Related Posts

Chair against the window

Susan

SARAH DUNPHY-LELII
I visit with a friend as she works to empty her mother’s house, who died just days before Christmas, and each object holds a tiny piece of Susan. I come away with several treasures lovely (a hand knitted scarf, a clay donkey to hold my garlic) and practical.

Mala Beads

MAW SHEIN WIN
When she wakes, I offer water. She sips from the glass. I ask if she needs more pillows behind her head. I look into her eyes and notice that she has deep blue lines that circle her almost black pupils. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I think of the nazars that I bought in Athens fifteen summers ago.

Shenyang: In Search of Reverse Donkeys

TONY HAO
They erased the city’s impoverished past but in no way offered an extravagant present available to everyone. I decided that even if I couldn’t find Shenyang’s past, at least I’d like to see a reverse donkey.