Tuesday Poem – Osinagra


Elegies talk of endings and lamentation.

I can’t speak of loss.

It leaves me on my knees

looking down into nothing

and what good is that?

When I dream I dream upwards

of stairs higher and higher.

Loss does not exist.

Each particle is reabsorbed.


When the world was flat

there was an edge to life

a fear of falling off.

The world is round now

and we can embrace it.


I remember my first visit to Osinagra.

The wind songs drowned

the bat wings whirr

but it was there

reminder of the space

we place between

afraid of loss


that everything returns.


An old woman or so I thought

her skin pleated

like a paper fan

held out her basket


‘Fresh cherries.  Take some.

Eat and let the juice trickle

down through your life.’

(c) Helen McKinlay

‘when I dream I dream upwards of stairs higher and higher’

I wrote this poem eight years ago.  I had been reading another poem…an elegy.  It occurred to me then that while things change they remain, in the sense that ‘matter’ reconstitutes again and again. The name Osinagra came to me unbidden.  I like the fact that the letters for again are contained there.

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