South Rim, Grand Canyon
Which strata holds our broken bones?
Which holds my greenstick
sisters, bruised-shin ballerinas,
Beside us a photographer sways,
triangulating for perspective
like the balancing peregrine
who bobs from side to side
to set the distance before the stoop.
We stand higher than the peregrine flies.
Haze blurs the North Rim, ten miles away.
Where are all those the lost grains now,
the eroded Colorado plateau’s sand?
And look – from which strata flew
that Southern blue bird,
to perch in the sun
and dance his colours for us,
more than a mile above the flood?
Vanessa Gebbie’s poetry has found success in a few competitions and appeared in various publications and anthologies. Her pamphlet The Half-life of Fathers (Pighog) was selected among the best of 2014 by the TLS. She is also a published novelist and short story writer, and contributing editor of the text book Short Circuit – Guide to the Art of the Short Story (Salt). www.vanessagebbie.com