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Elodie Rose Barnes: a poem


I know where you are,

poem. The language that folds itself

around my tongue, a parasite of ivy

on the oak tree. The waves that lick the shore

of old Cagnes; grains of me

disappearing, eroding

back into salt, hardening

to shell. Je me suis perdu.

You, poem, are that rippled surface.

The brine of the olive that echoes

on my lips, too faint

to be tasted. The hands of a mother

that hold my throat and prevent me

from speaking. You are there

but where are you here,

poem? Where are you, when I ask you

qui je suis pour toi?

Elodie Rose Barnes is an author and photographer. She can be found between Paris, Spain and the UK (usually mixing up her languages) while her words live in places such as Amethyst Review, Clover & White and Neologism Poetry Journal. She is guest editor of the Life in Languages series at Lucy Writers’ Platform. Find her online at and on Twitter here: @BarnesElodie

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