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2 poems by Corinna Board

Portrait of the lake at sunrise

The willow leans down, pulls dawn

from the water: glistening new-born,

slick as a fish.

The sun is just beginning to rise;

pouring her fire into the lake.

An early mallard swims into the flames,

emerging unscathed. A pair of herons sit

by the shore, scanning the surface – two

charred ghosts on the brink of morning.

Water ripples and pools in circles;

shattering the perfect mirror of trees.

The branches of an oak shimmer

in the inferno, but do not burn.

In the park

Trees form a shield

between the park and the road,

but its dull howl arrows my senses;

opening the wound of loneliness.

I sit here bleeding.

People and dogs float by,

only the moon sees me

with her half an eye;

safe in her cloud nest.

This is the city after all,

where sorrow hides in plain sight,

and a heart can be buried

at the roots of an oak

and left there for winter.


Corinna Board lives in a village in the Cotswolds and works in Oxford, where she teaches

English as an additional language. Her main sources of inspiration are art, nature and mythology. Her work has been published in various journals. Corinna can be found on Instagram @parole_de_reveuse and on Twitter @CorinnaBoard.


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