Underwater

Walking through this sunken film set, I see
the departed ones dozing in their chairs.
Grown into their roles, these bit-part actors
hamming their way through the shopping channel’s
clearance sale – each snore a refusal to
return and take a bow. The elephants
by the door have gills, mouths blowing bubbles
like ideas around the room. I sit down
and stroke Dad’s hand – his veins as membranous
as the scales of a magnificent fish –
while nestling in the crook of Mum’s arm.
The TV’s an aquarium at rush-hour:
our faces balloon against the glass. I
will not wake them even though I wish
for one last harpooning of the air, one
more climb up that cascading, ascending
stair. For no word from me will reach them. Safe
beneath the sea where the dead can breathe.

James Dowling hails from England and teaches at a university in Seoul. A number of his poems have appeared in Eunoia Review.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Underwater

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.