Evening Poetry, August 19

Hidden in the fields of asphodel

by Ian Pople

They might stand and smile, greet each other,
the conversation might settle into seriousness,

come down from the upper decks into the corridor,
come down into the sound of engines, oil smell,

petrol and sea, revelations, too, beneath the layers
of metal, the ultrasound exploring it all,

as you might emerge on the beach from the sand
your child has buried you in, as the seaweed

appears at low tide, the tide water falls, not drying.
And on that selfsame strand, the two of them

walk toward us, paper blowing across their path.
Where we might be repulsed by them, we are attracted

by the spirit, like the blackbird that sings for a mate
well into the spring, as the tree fills with leaves.

You can find this poem in the June 2020 issue of Poetry Magazine.

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