A Loss of Five


There are two
Who bend the river,
One with a crooked shoulder.

The other,
With two carcass feet,
The sinew stitched
From left to right

Drags what he can,
Back and forth
From placid minnow water.

Between the hut,
Absinthal cold
Clings to fur around
Their ears,

The thud as axe
Swings quickly past.

Unknown, the wind is
Chilled above.
All noses
Past the point of caring;

A foal kicks shivers
Down wet flanks,
While mother feeds a hungry
Four.

One's leathered hand
Misses the chill– 
A space
That lost its unity;

A vow that tumbles down the river,
A digit caught in winter's melt.

Its arctic shell that's
Sinking, sinking– 
Bobbing
Like a spiny cone.
 
One that's
Broken. 
	
       Cold. 
             
             And fat.

© Eve Redwater 2012

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24 thoughts on “A Loss of Five

  1. Beautiful and fine imagery. You have a way of tip-toeing over the surface, yet fathoming the depths, all that the same time. Does that make any sense? Anyhow, hope you know what I mean! Lovely image, too.
    Now, if you’ll please forgive the proof reader in me, one little nitpicking issue here – the use of the possessive pronoun ‘its’ (without apostrophe), ‘it’s’ is a contraction of it is or it has. It might be worth having a look above in a couple of places. I’m sorry about this! Just call me a boring old f*rt ;). Nevertheless, this does not detract in any way from the quality of the poem, which I love.

    • Thank you David, yes it does make sense. 🙂

      And oh dear. (Embarrassed.) That’s one of my pet hates you know, when people misuse ‘it’s’ and ‘its’, and I did just that! What terrible proof-reading on my part, thank you so much for pointing them out!

  2. This was wonderful! You really are so talented. I think you will likely be a household name in all of our grandchildren’s homes.

    Way to to go, and keep up the good work.

  3. There is so much to like in this poem, Eve Redwater. The images, of course:
    A foal kicks shivers
    Down wet flanks,
    But beyond the images is the mystery at the start of the poem that becomes increasingly clear as the poem goes on, leading the reader on and on:
    There are two
    Who bend the river,
    One with a crooked shoulder.
    Who are the two? we ask ourselves.
    Then the cold feeling of the poem, giving it unity. This is simply good work.

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