Crossing the bridge I see it,
a bible, red leather, gold embossed,
caught by a fallen tree in the middle of the lake.
Pages, once clear and black-inked, water-soaked.
The cover curling like painted lips.
I reach with a branch to reel it in.
A storm wind bellows under the bridge,
turns the water murky brown,
swirls the bible away from its mooring.
Saints and angels, virgins and whores, disciples and betrayers
sink to the black depths of the lake.
In the fading light
I wait for Jesus to rise again.
Belinda has worked as a psychiatric nurse, lecturer and creative arts practitioner. Her poems are
published in magazines, on-line journals and anthologies. She recently gained second place in the
2018 Ambit Poetry Competition. Her first pamphlet, Touching Sharks in Monaco, will be published
this year by Indigo Dreams.
I love this! Haunting, expressive and wonderful last line!ReplyDelete