Edge

Edge

1920 1264 Lesley-Anne Evans

Take the path up
through the stinking mud
and tufted grass barely rooted
in barren. Keep on up
to the cliff top, lean
into the wind, tears
pulled from your eyes and drained
down stark lined cheeks. Up, up
to the edge where all that lies ahead
is North Sea waves half ice
over shipwrecks,
selkie dreams dashed hard
on the jagged shore. Look north,
out where the sky meets
mossy undulations of standing waves
where looking back at yourself
you are nothing
but a speck of possibility. Look down
at shoes muddied and scuffed, wild
brambles hitch hiked to your old wool coat.

Reach out your hands,
ridged nails on fingers
wrinkled staccato with terror.
There, and only if you dare,
open up your life,
widen your lungs to salt mist,
your veins to the pulsing hum of thin places.

Steady yourself, eyes up, up.
Feel the heft of the surf beg
boisterous below you.

Stand your ground.

Sing.

Sing.

Lesley-Anne Evans

Lesley-Anne has the heart of a mystic. Not surprising as she is Belfast, Northern Ireland born, and such landscapes continue to feed her soul. Lesley-Anne spent her early career days as a Landscape Architect in Toronto, Ontario, designing gardens and theme parks, then retired from consulting in 1993 and moved west to Kelowna, British Columbia, where the wild things are. Lesley-Anne’s poetry is published in The Antigonish Review, Contemporary Verse 2, Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, and many others.

All posts by Lesley-Anne Evans

Leave a Reply