"Migration" (part 3 of 8)

I was born homeless,
but with a roof on my back
and an instinct toward the sea.
I crawled from a nest
of broken yolk and shells
and blindly turned
to a violence of waves
that pulled me under
toward refracted light and space—

I followed birds that fly
straight out from shore with
an instinct to an island
they have never seen,
where nothing exists
but procreation,
the bones of ancestors
crumpled into dust.

the horizon
swallows tongues,
a zipper in the ocean’s skin
opens into silence.

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Every Friday for a total of 8 weeks I will post a section of a poem cycle called “Migration,” along with a painting of the same name. This week’s poetry selection explores the connection between the geographical migrations of my own life with those of ancient peoples across oceans. Please tune in every Friday to check out this work, and visit my painting website at www.scottezellgallery.com.

Scott Ezell

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight