Landscapes were always my preserve
lying in my third-hand bath each night
the water clouded by soap
opaque as certain seas
I raised my knees to tower over
the fjord of water between my legs
I didn’t have my later geographer’s
vocabulary of fjords, rias and alps
the drowned and the truncated
alps – shoulders bulldozed by the ice
flanked by hanging valleys
pouring high waterfalls into space
but what’s in a name
I conjured the landscape anyway
Trapped in bed, off school for weeks
bronchitis, chronic
my dappled woolen blanket
(whatever became of that favourite)
also stood in for the freedom to explore.
Raising my knees again
from foothills to mountains at will
and sometimes with toys to hand
I marshalled my ill-assorted troops
into commanding positions
directing wars in my lap
with my fevered bed-bound brain
Before there was watercolour
before there was travel
before I could drive or even ride a bike
Landscapes were always my preserve…
Posted for lillian in Poetics over on dVerse Poets Pub who set the challenge of taking you on a walk – well not exactly a walk but…
© Andrew Wilson, 2023