Walking home from work again,
and it reminds me of this moment
I’d come home for the holidays
which one it was, I don’t remember,
And somehow, I was on my own—
the house was cold, and still, and empty,
And I would swear that I was suffering—
or missing someone who wasn’t with me—
In a couple of moments, I’d be sitting
to a piece of music, which hit the spot—
But what the bay reminds me of
before I put it in the player
it wasn’t a symbol of anything,
it was really just another moment,
These rocks down in Otaki Gorge
once chucked in the river in Italy;
the one that flowed through Moreton Ford,
I used to sit on, watching things;
down by the boathouse by the dock
and which, I remember once deciding,
a realm apart, a tranquil harbour.
before my grandparents passed way,
was purchased outright by my uncle.
and we can’t hold them; nor they us.
but we leave them; or I sure do.
drawing this poem in a pool with a branch.
I guess it’s brought me other things
We tossed those rocks with all our might,
Heading to the coinage conference
a day to see the silver dolphins
just like they do on the coins of Thera,
who had to sing to save himself.
spreads out from the flagpost like a sail;
from Hawaiki or Southampton
Is this what we’re looking for—something
a land unencumbered by memory?
the coming home we’ll never tire of,
Either way, we’ll never find it now;
You know that, too—your trip out here
a final, hopeful, throw of the dice,
And as I head back to the bar
and watch the sun pour down onto
James Ackhurst was born in Calgary and now lives in Wellington. His poems have appeared in takahe and Turbine. Ackhurst notes: “These poems are part of a longer sequence of double sonnets.”
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