top of page
Christianna Soumakis
the reeds II
it won’t be long
before I move into the reeds
where I belong.
they grow also on my face:
skinny lines, depreciation,
the young town sinking to marsh.
long shaking reeds,
like laughter, like maracas —
the reeds toll for me.
they come up after fire,
resurrection green,
fast as flags, unsurrendered
stand all winter long,
barely brown,
flaking, splintered, testifying.
day by day
they make way for trails
like secrets or seaming wounds.
tasselled for celebration,
roots in the silt,
heads in the clouds.
dawn chorus,
evensong, redwing
blackbirds perch, swaying
daylong. night,
the streetlights
flicker on, flicker off.
the reeds go on.
the reeds endure.
it won’t be long:
I’m going back to the reeds
where I belong.
bottom of page