A breach in the water

by Charlie Baylis


After Sylvia Plath

White fields, white reeds, white blankets of phosphoresce
Rippled by swans, ridden by pebble ripples
The geese are dreaming of Palestine

My mother melts sugar into her milk,
Plucks pearls for my panda, the leaves are haemorrhaging
Autumn’s pram landscapes

With gold, oxygen sprays around the sweeps
Of the runner’s beat, over a rip of sticks, under the ridge
A carp twitches up a bootlace

The ducks are hallucinating an India
Ten thousand Taj Mahals covered with eggshells,
Kissed coins of moonlight crumbling where the Yamuna curves

And five fingers furl from a breach in the water
This is a bridal path, Sylvia. Stir up your myths in wonder:
Here is where you abandon the sword.

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