Poetry by Nicole Olmos Pervaiz
Oh we tripped, tripped on morning, restless motions settled on sofa, waiting to be woken
Oh we tread, we tread on paths reworked and eternally re-molded, ready for renewal
solitary swimmer, pondering ponds, water lily pads, paddling, quite alone in murky waters
thick with moss, and grime and green, thick with longing, to be woken and wide eyed
enclosed, in the seduction of coolness, of dripping hair strands, strangled by Victorian floating rings
who has rested waiting passing, watching women soaked to cold sweats, enthused by contracted chests
all in gasp, all in motion, all in limbs disjointed and numb feeling, slow mental healing
rain dipped its paintbrush in the ink of murk, leaving rippling rails for strangers to swim
surrounded close by chestnut trees and walk by faces, hidden in clouded shadow
sky mirrored moss murk, mirrored wet faced expressions of joyful agony
mirrored life guard sitters, drinking warm teas in jumpers, utterly action-less
and she small girl sitting through the rain painting distant trees
as though they could be reproduced
as though the moment itself could be captured
as though the cold could drip off skin to touch toes,
to seep back into the black bliss waters it belongs
Image by Rebecca Reid