The Fallings
Morgan Gwynneth Bach (IIML, Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand)
I woke up thinking about sink holes.
Not in a bad way, you see, just
in the way I watch planes
from my bed. Each one an un-called
number. An un-spilled cup of tea,
covers still clean hands
un-scalded and reaching
under the sheets to the cool patch
on the other side where you were,
and you were and you
and you too, though none
of you now. Most of the time
they say it’s human development
that opens up the earth
in a sudden perfect circle
dropping deeper than light
can show you. Mineral reaping
and failed technologies recreate
the movements of an ice
age. Out my window the planes
take off at different angles,
some keep low and rise slowly
but others are full-tilt
to the heavens
chancing the weather
is better there, with clouds below
to give the illusion of being held
should they find themselves
alone, so suddenly
in the cool patches.
Morgan Bach lives in a little house overlooking the sea in Wellington, New Zealand, where she is currently working on a poetry portfolio for her Masters at the IIML, Victoria University. She has one of the best views from her writing desk she’s ever seen, and can’t believe her luck, really.
