It is dangerous to attempt to retrieve anything from fog/ the name of your sister’s dog/ the right door/ evaporates/ will not heed when you call/ no recall in dense///
fog/// go slow/// put your hazards on/ let others know you are dealing with fog to maintain the correct distance/ but if or when/ then/ keep expectations low/ strangers will flash articulation/ synaptic claps blind/ your dim road/ path/ trail// footprints// track/// go back/// iron out the one sentence you have/ fix it straight/ repeat/ write it down for posterity
do not imagine/think/ fog will last/// forever//// the current forecast anticipates one hour before dissipation// it may feel like several days/// ablur in brume /// singing each verse of a theme tune to perfection//astonished that a mist though familiar settles in a room you have entered///expectant as hunger that your hand will find what you came for//or was that yesterday// or before
when fog shifts your lost words will return/ migrating kittiwakes drop your syllables/ wayward eggs/ into the right nest too late for your unfathomed tongue// left unsaid
when your fog lifts
there may be rainbows
About the Author
Liz Young is a non-fiction writer living in Sunderland, North-East England. She has a background in illustrated book publishing and is a former co-editor of Kindred Spirit magazine. Her poems have appeared in Magma, South Bank Poetry, 14 and The Alchemy Spoon.
