Blue Monday
In the evening birds would loom
over fields, cries accumulatin
momentum, white wings sheet-wide.
To watch them one could hardly believe
we were a country at war.
At night I’d dream, frenetic stupor,
of torn limbs, blasted rocks
and flung flung seals—–
Upon some bluff-
Was I a shepherd?
…..And trying to lead them
…..And toward a sea I discovered
…..did not exist.
The seals kept baying—–
…..And leather flippers
…..And through bent grey whiskers,
…..grateful eyes, grateful,
…..till they knew too.
One by one I’d lug them back,
bodies, living sandbags, and the meaning
taken: no enemy to blame.
Now we are at peace
but the dream still comes
with sleep or without—–
the seals, the lost coast, no ocean
available, and my sorrow that dry gulf
because those seals were really people
the sun dissolved
- Stephen Mead
