Skin Canoes Poem by Carolyn Forché
Skin Canoes
Swallows carve lake wind,
trailers lined up, fish tins.
The fires of a thousand small camps
spilled on a hillside.
I pull leeks, morels from the soil,
fry chubs from the lake in moonlight.
I hear someone, hear the splash, groan
of a waterpump, wipe my mouth.
Fish grease spits at darkness.
Once I nudged a canoe through that water,
letting its paddle lift, drip.
I was sucked down smaller than the sound
of the dropping, looked out
from where I had vanished.
A beautifully conceived equally beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
Very nice poem that captures the images, the feeling and experience of being at such a camp.
Spilled on a hillside! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/22/2024 10:55:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I hear someone, hear the splash, groan of a water pump, wipe my mouth. Fish grease spits at darkness. Beautiful lines from a lovely poem. Thanks poet for sharing the poem.10 for it. Subhas