Leaving The South by Ren Arcamone

Clambered out of the sea,

girl-shaped now

but half fish at heart,

songless on this strange shore of

sandcastles flattened by the wind.


I could go back.

Repaint my scales and sew

my feet into fins,

trade legs for a tail,

chase summer all the way to Australia.


Or I might grow accustomed

to the bite of the earth and the air:


go north,

far north –

see the cities where they put salt in the snow

make a torch of a pumpkin

with my hands and a knife –


after all,

haven’t I longed

for the dull cold, the soft frost,

the garden of creeping trellis,

the slowly growing bulbs

of orange, almost glowing


I have waited

so long

to plunge my fingers into that soft heart

hold tight and twist free

the wet seeds, the wet threads

the core and the source


to plant my feet firm in the dirt

to unclench my fist


like an offering.


Ren Arcamone is a writer and aspiring optimist living in Sydney, Australia. She can be found occasionally tweeting into the void at @renherring

Image Source:  Razvan Narcis Ticu

Categories: Poetry

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