Beautifully unique poem by fellow poet Sonja Johanson in today’s Silver Birch Press post for the I am Waiting series. If you haven’t been following these daily posts, go see what you’ve been missing!
… to have them played just for me
on a rainy rooftop, for the wind to flip
around, messing with the music, for it
to grab the bleating notes, to turn them
inside out and break them like a black
umbrella, to lift them up and lose them
against the flat, grey clockwork
of the waves below.
I am waiting for the piper, his fingers
on the chanter and lips pursed above
the blowpipe, drone cords stretched
across the shoulder, second-hand
sporran curling from the moisture;
who carries on with shuffling even
when the bass drone brays like
a pack-mule objecting to the work.
And I am waiting for the ferry,
all dressed in Christmas lights,
and for the captain who will ask
how many for the last boat to
the Faroe Islands, extreme north
Hebrides, and will we be wanting
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