response poem: thassos
After Alan Soldofsky’s “Sense of Place”
8 a.m. I feel yesterday’s sunshine
burn my skin.
Most of the cats that begged for food
lounge on my balcony, asleep.
Now we know our words are like
Mount Athos, floating holy peninsula—
meaning shrouded in layers and layers
of gray and white sea clouds.
The goat path to our lunch site is steep,
littered with goat shit and tiny rocks
But can be negotiated.
When I rise from lunch I stoop over, my head
floating in sea clouds.
My tongue heavy
the past tense of the sun
writing its scalding taste in my mouth.
Thassos, Greece See the inspiration for this poem here.
