by David Tait
Pictures, you said, contain absent
vast spaces untouched by the plotter’s pen.
These corner drawings of fishermen
have oceans of unchartered page
to dive in. The parchment’s salty grain
could blossom pearls, giant squid, Atlantis.
I believed you when you took away
the framed narrative of our history.
We’re chained to those places like railings,
developed against landmarks we never felt.
Better, you said, to be held like these empty drawings,
uncolonised and simple as a Zen garden’s stones –
casting your eyes around not knowing quite where,
but feeling humble, privileged to be there.
David Tait lives in Leeds. His poetry has been published in Pomegranate, Cake, Gloom Cupboard, The Scribe, Art Fist, Leeds Poetry and Audience and, most recently, The Guardian!
The Pygmy Giant hopes you are enjoying National Poetry Week.