The Watchers

Russian, on the trails.
In the fields, Spanish
To my right. German
To my left. Somewhere
Else, unintelligible due
To distance and the wind
Distorting vowels
And consonants into rolling
Rumbles. My ears
Receive it all, like
Symphonic speech,
Punctuated
By

A baby’s wail,

The Universal language
Of all humanity.
An immigrant carries
A backpack cooler
To a family picnic,
It is covered in
Stars and Stripes.

None of us are American.

The train carrying mysteries
To the Canadian border,
Rumbles under the pedestrian
Bridge. It blows its horn
Like a wave hello
To the watchers. They stand
Peering through the chain link
Holes, like fish coming up
For air, lips pushing through
Fence, eyes keenly zeroing.
The rush.
Then gone.
Back to beach. To rocks.
To shells buried, cracked,
Dead, still alive.
Mountains watch us,
Their peaks sentries. Guarded.
Guarding the open sea, a
Partition between our hearts
And the vastness they know
Our limited consciousness
May not be able to see.
See but not see.
None of us are what
The other believes.

We are each other.
English now. Italian.

Human.

Emily C.

7.30.17

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “The Watchers

Speak Your Heart...

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s