Uncharted
A poem by Jennie E. Owen

Uncharted

How I love to watch those steady clouds roll across your face.
An iris sharpens, sun shrinking back.  Blue waves over rock pools

You see nothing, but why should you?  This instant is only a glimmer.
And yet, this nothing could stop a waterfall, desiccate the ocean, lasso

the tidal moon into your pocket. Little one, rooting your existence,
this moment is yours with its wet milky breath.  And yet.  Demanding,

you pass possibilities between ripe fists.  A horizon of undreamed
longings. Your stomach fills with sea water and black eyeless creatures.

Our mutual dance rocks starboard and port, taking turns to lead
from squalling gale to glass, from this moment unto the next.

And beyond.  Into a time when perhaps you will navigate new
possibilities and the light will no longer shift and swell, but

fix its course.  ‘Nothing’ will one day become uncharted.  My
‘Everything’ granulated to ash and salt, as it should be. 

About the Author:

Jennie E. Owen’s writing has been widely published online, in literary journals and anthologies. She has been nominated for both the Pushcart and Forward prizes. She teaches Creative Writing for The Open University and lives in Lancashire, UK with her husband and three children. She is a PhD student at Manchester Metropolitan University, focusing on poetry and place.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
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