The Poetry Project


Lucía Orellana-Damacela

I open the doorxxxxxxredxxxxxxto let the air in
my dog out at 10 a.m. and at 6 p.m.
five stone steps link the house
to the groundxxxxxxgreenxxxxxxthis time of the year
a concrete passagexxxxxgreyxxxxxthat turns right
leads into the driveway which leads onto the road
I clear my throatxxxxxxthirsty of distance
if I turn right I soon reach a small bridge
with iron railsxxxxxXXxblackxxxxthe bridge is no more
than five feet long over a narrow creek
which once in a while visits my garden
when the surge of a storm overrides its course
I take off my shoesxxxxxmy skin claims the ground
stroll around the stretch of wild flowers and weeds and reach
the rocky shore of this waterxxxxxxclear
where colors multiply
water that doesn’t freshen my mouthxxxxxbut my ears

Work from “To hear all the sky and the map”: Lines of Mapping