Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves. Let junkmail build its castles in the hush…

I have been enjoying the poetry of Ros Barber recently. And this poem is such a delight. It is like the sign of rest as I come to prayer. It is called: How to Leave the World that Worships Should.

The title is open to being misunderstood but it means those that worship would needs (or should) to be done.

 
 

Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves.
Let junkmail build its castles in the hush
of other people’s halls. Let deadlines burst
and flash like glorious fireworks somewhere else.
As hours go softly by, let others curse
the roads where distant drivers queue like sheep.
Let e-mails fly like panicked, tiny birds.
Let phones, unanswered, ring themselves to sleep.

Above, the sky unrolls its telegram,
immense and wordless, simply understood:
you’ve made your mark like birdtracks in the sand –
now make the air in your lungs your livelihood.
See how each wave arrives at last to heave
itself upon the beach and vanish. Breathe.

I have a book token to use so am going to get her book: The Marlow Papers. Sounds great!

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