The Way Things Are
It begins after the unpacking
has ended; the gathering-together
of crumbs for bread, enough for a loaf,
enough to say to this new place -
We save some. Hoard them
in little jars to be brought out
on special occasions, but our roots
are never more than skin deep.
Fibres woven from single grains of sand.
I know there was a time
when we didn’t do this.
Our bones are made of more than silt;
I carry them, hardened sea-shells
that echo the song of a shore
I’ve not yet seen.
The bread is meant to bind us
to the earth
but always we wake to a light
that holds the salt-sweet scent of pearls,
a rolling wind that sounds like the sea,
a shifting tide.
A trail of crumbs scattering in our wake
Elodie Rose Barnes
Elodie Rose Barnes is an author and photographer. She can usually be found in Paris or the UK, daydreaming her way back to the 1920s, while her words live in places such as Ellipsis Zine, Bold + Italic and trampset. Current projects include chapbooks of poetry & photography inspired by Paris, and a novel based on the life of modernist writer Djuna Barnes. She can be found online at http://elodierosebarnes.weebly.com and on Twitter @BarnesElodie.