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"Of epiphanies" by Skinner Matthews


A dark sky over a rough sea, with a dark blue box and "Of epiphanies" by Skinner Matthew in white text

What have we to measure the distance we are

from the sea or albatross? Breakers and barriers

of islands or broken pieces of offshore reef

buoys of orange balsa wood bouncing

a deathly white albino alabaster

suffocating adrift of their environment.

The truth never lasting as long as it should

freeing us to dream, follow the map, its lines

geographies; on the flood plains, the heights

of magnificent mountains, chasms

and crevices for exploration, the lines

for rented rooms to savor some sort

of companionship longer yesterday

than the brevity of its nanosecond.

Marking the distances we can’t measure

how far we may need to wander to avoid

the bottom of the river Ouse*, finding

an inner sanctum of belonging

telling us we’ve arrived at this moment

free of all but the ties that bind us

to the sorrow in our voices and the home

God has shown us how to find

at this hour precisely—revelations

well-storied and meant to be found

celebrated and, sometimes, anguished over.

 

*Apologies to her and her family, yet in dedication to Virginia Woolf. Her streams of consciousness began to unlock to the literary, and unliterary world, the emotion of the mental illness that pained her, and has pained so many including my own family


 

Skinner Matthews is a poet living and writing in Bluffton SC. He writes for the enlightenment, and with an informed knowledge, of the struggling lower, working class, and the disaffected. He hopes his poetry brings light to the many umbrous hearts and places that exist as landmines in the streets, neighborhoods, and households of the working class. 

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