Tuesday Poem: As the Earth Turns

For the victims of the Christchurch Earthquake 22-2-11

Wound so tight, of course it breaks

and in the breaking

the surface dissembles, and the innards –

coiled and clean, hidden, neat –

are wrenched –

exposed to callous air –

Oh, earth!

We cry bitterly into the brokenness

for there is no longer a place

for eyes to rest, no place

to put our feet.

We fall into the brokenness

we straddle the brokenness

we cradle the brokenness

we tip-toe on the brokenness

we weep into the brokenness

and the salt-water – as salt does –

scours or

rusts, depending - we don’t know

(might never know) we who fall,

who straddle, who cradle, who tip-toe,  who weep –

This at least for now: brokenness reminds

of the unbroken, and our hearts, our poor dumb ticking hearts,

are wound up still each night.