Poetry

Poetry by Laura Lind
- Laura Lind

Early Rising

He’s been dead thirty-eight years

which seemed soon to us then

and gone from Greece nearly sixty,

yet in the mornings he still pounds

the milk pans downstairs at dawn

the same way he did in nineteen

forty. I neither feel nor know that

my grandfather got stuck going

to his goats over and over at five

a.m. in the space where strangers

now live, but he didn’t like having

to wake first, so the house he built

held it for him and still plays it back

as a favorite song because a home,

too, has a sense of humour. Some

thing inside here doesn’t want us

to sleep, the new owner said to my

aunt, who grew up groggy in that

place. Yeah, said my aunt. He was

early for everything. Even eternity.

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Laurinda Lind writes on the other side of the world in New York State in the US. Some previous publications and acceptances were in Antithesis Journal, Ascent, Constellations, Ellipsis, Indefinite Space, Intercultural Writer’s Review, Liminality, Lucidity, Mind in Motion, Mobius, Origins, Uproot, and Veil.