Nancy Murphy / Writer

writings and performances by Nancy Murphy

Hindsight


(after James Turrell’s light artSkyscape”)

All mistakes grow less wrong over time.
Ghosts–I’ve learned to quiet them.
All I found was myself and my liquid.
All I wanted was someone to light me

from inside, the dark too heavy to lift alone. 
I could have stayed, ignored the life

of the body, its fear and impulse.
In hindsight, undertows of grief and need,
my own unsteadiness in water.
I can still taste salt–

from oceans, from tears, from dissolution.
I miss the drawings of shells and starfish
scattered on the wallpaper, our daughter’s
bedroom. And periwinkle–
color is really an opening; the sky

can bloom like a turquoise camellia.

Do we ever really know what
we’re dealing with?  Maybe the moon.

I see only what is not there.
I close my eyes. When I open them,
pink shifts to shimmering amber.
Cloud strands twist like ballet messengers,
like smoke or alchemy. Like strangers.


 28th Annual Poetry Ink Anthology by Moonstone Center for the Arts, Philadelphia 2024


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