Far and Near
There is a darker side, it dawns on me.
A story is unfolding in real time:
matters of moment seen sequentially,
framing the fate we play out line by line.
Persistent visions of those sweeping scenes,
the disenchantments of a distant view:
lessons in suffering by other means.
I say what I’m supposed to say to you.
Far and away from me a fault line gives,
a longitude between two sides: who lives,
who’s lost. Tsunamis hit the coast, the news;
some lose the little that they had to lose.
And then: a wave at breaking point, an emptied sea,
mother to no one now, a nameless she.
Mine is an isomer of empathy.
No one is anyone but you and me.
Philip Quinlan has a chapbook, Head Lands (White Violet Press, 2012). He received nominations, in 2011, for both The Best of the Net and Pushcart. His work has appeared in: The Flea, The Chimaera, Lucid Rhythms, Lilt, Soundzine, Numinous, The Avatar Review, The Centrifugal Eye, Sea Stories, Shit Creek Review, Shot Glass Journal, Victorian Violet Press, Whale Sound, Studio 360, In Stereo Press, The Hypertexts, Lighten Up Online, Antiphon and Raintown Review. He is also co-editor of Angle Journal of Poetry in English. He lives in the UK.