‘Fractures’ by David Clarke – Resurgence Prize, Highly Commended

i

This house just moved
………..and all the bodies in it.
Our finger-pointed grip on earth dislodged

another fraction. Floodlit rigs
………..assault the ground and sky,
scarred trucks idle at stop-lights.

Now we are tutored to open –
………..this spell of force that conjures
each fissure apart, its pitching release.

Whatever holds us here, together,
………..gets hairline cracks,
like old china’s milky net.

Tap at it. Harder,
………..as if it’s ready to give,
as if the liquid beneath might spark.

ii

What is it that we’re breathing in,
………..these mornings when the earth cracks
open, sighs like a waking child?

The ice locked harm for centuries
………..in frigid lungs, spores
that sparkled like new rain in fur.

They rise now as mist from plains,
………..an air that’s sharp as memory.
Bracken gives in tundra’s mind,

imagines a hind struck down in scrub,
………..his bloodline pearling red
at his lips. A twitch of limbs

that catches in our nerves. Long light
………..cast on the rest of day
to draw freak shadows from our going home.