Moya Cannon: "Openings" & "Still Life"

OPENINGS

In my chest a rusted metal door
is creaking open,
the door of a decompression chamber
cranked up on barnacled chains.

The rush of air hurts and hurts
as larks fly
in and out,
in and out
between my bended ribs.

--Moya Cannon

STILL LIFE

Much though we love best
those intersections of time and space
where we are love's playthings,
a sweet anonymity of flesh --
life's blessed rhythm
loving itself through us,
two human bodies tuned
to the whirring stars --

this is almost nothing
without the small, quotidian gifts,
habitual caresses which hinder fears,
the grace of small services rendered --
two bowls of blueberries and yoghurt,
two cups of coffee,
two spoons,
laid out on a wooden table
in October sunlight.

--Moya Cannon

-- from Moya Cannon's Hands,

Carcanet Press Limited,

Manchester, UK, 2011

"Secret Cove"

The entrances to the cove on an energetic day.  The southwest swell had mellowed and some rock formations shielded the approach.

Heading in.

Inside and looking back out.

Beached: the tide had dropped enough for a landing.  Often, I've arrived with no beach at all.

The current pulling outward with the receding wave.

The view of beach's end.  Substantial log there.

Looking upward from that beach: amphitheatre style, but no easy way upward.

Checking my own exit.

The arches again.

Heading out.