Going to rinse the saucepan, I spy
a rose petal in the sink: bent purple,
withered in this high-seventies weather,
most unseasonable of seasons.
Somehow circumvented angles
of back yard, oil tank and washing-line,
through kitchen window, onto an
irregular place of rest.
Leaning in, I find its being:
a red cabbage leaf from last night’s
salad, a beauty non-transferable,
Aweigh of junk piles,
teased from their rust,
resurfacing; a gravity
towards the shoreline.
Disturbance amidst rocks:
as currents play their hands;
lifting pennies from eyes,
a cure for blindness.
and too much weight,
hull and reef conjoined.
The lighthouse blinks
I traded my shoes for a bowl of water;
forgive my diversion from your path.
Think nothing of my blistered travails
or the blood left upon the rocks.
My burden was only the weight
of importance, meant to fill your ears
rather than stoop my back.
News only survives if the man does.
Colin Dardis is a poet, editor and arts facilitator. His work has been published in numerous anthologies, journals and zines throughout Ireland, the UK and the USA. He edits the online journal FourXFour and is the host of the Purely Poetry open mic night in Belfast.