Member Poem

sometimes i wake up holding shape in suspense
did the gutter catch the ball before the fielder did?

if yes peeking there from the shadows shingled
on silence : a baithook form of breathing with
hands queased in his pockets like fish in redtides.

was it boredom or doubt or distrust that cut
that earthworm in two to see if it’s true they never
died when divided but bided and then multiplied
and bursting revealed salt inside as if tears dried?

the ball’s red hope caught and reeled in (can i play
too?) handed over to the cold (maybe next time) go
back to the silent shadows remembering red hope

chafing against the slow flow of the gutter’s low tide
in a quiet sense of acquiescence as if tears drying.