We left the wine bottles
as candle-holders
to decorate the hut,
swept up and out
and down towards water and back
scrambling over bracken
clutching
at the base of young trees
like epiphytes
then down again a cracked track
where old branches lay like martyrs
over too-steep steps
back to the river
flowing faster
and deep so we couldn’t cross
without a hand to hold
and our feet were numb
and the sun
stung our wine-swept eyes.
© Saradha Koirala 2008
A poem full of the bush and of river – I could smell the leaf mould – great images. Thank you.
I love this poem! I’ve just encountered Joseph Mills’s wine-related poems and this one is a great extension of this themes – from wine to your potent images of the bush, so physical and true. Thanks!
Thank you! I’m so glad you both liked this 🙂 I wrote it for my friends after a slightly mis-adventurous tramping trip. Fun though!
Good poem: ‘wine-swept’ works so well in the last line. I want to read more of your work. Thanks.