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Naomi Folb: a poem


Sometimes I wonder

if your precision, passion,

sense of knowing,

comes from within.

Or if it matters.

I saw transcendence

through the ferry window,

where the dark and heavy water

slugs in heaves

of fatigued liquid pyramids,

collapsing on themselves

sucking in the distance

between us and the grey line.

A poem returns to me,

on the fissures of formulation,

a bus ride, a moose,

smeared ocean grime

on my reflection, bounced

about by the moment,

occupied by cardboard cups

quietly placed on laminate

surfaces. Caution in chatter.

Creaks of wicker hampers,

stacked with sandwiches

carefully unwrapped from tinfoil

by fingertips unscrewing

thermoses of filtered coffee

or pinched yellow

from shaking sugar

granules in paper sachets.

Some of us see how cheery it is

to sway around smooth surfaces

spritzed with alcohol

on our way to somewhere else

that we hold tepid hope for,

between the acrid concerns

and saccharine surprises.

Naomi has a doctorate in philosophy and founded a publishing company for dyslexic writers. She now combines writing with teaching children with special educational needs. She has just completed her first novella and is currently working on a book about non-linear narratives and a poetry collection which explores signs, happiness and living the good life. A full list of her publications can be found on her website:


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