The Storm Nursery Poem by Sheena Blackhall
The Storm Nursery
Two siblings, we enter the cable car
Not sitting close together
The car is a blown egg shell
Rising up from the car park
A thin screech
The great Alp yawns below
We are wingless birds
In a troubled glass pod,
A frail and tilting cradle
We hang from a slim thread
Ignoring the warning
‘Do not rock the car’
My brother does so
This is the storm nursery
For the heirs of Icarus
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 6:14:44 PM # 1.0.0.1119
