At dawn the rocks are black with divers.
Under the sun’s dull coin, in mussel-dark rubber
and masks, the women of Cheju plunge tankless
into the unlit rooms of the sea, drawn by the siren
of necessity to gather urchins, octopus and abalone.
The one my age hurts everywhere,
nearly deaf from the depths. Fifty years
she’s entered the cold peril, felt the when,
when of her lungs to which the waves have no answer
of air. Her face contorted, oxygen-poor
after four, five, six minutes under,
the old one, surfacing, holds no treasure
in her hands larger than a man’s and barnacle-raw.
Just the seafood she must clean before dark.
Can she recall the pacific water where she swam once,
sweet oblivion, or imagine the volcanic birth of her island,
the contractions bearing lava, steam wall-high
where fire met water, how the molten rock cooled,
how it hardened? Grown, the woman does not cry.
To read more of Allison Funk's poetry go to depoetry.com/poets/201311/03-allison_funk.html.
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The Delaware Poetry Review, or DePoetry.com, is an online compilation of amazing, contemporary poetry gathered by a group of erudite editors based in the Mid-Atlantic Region. This notable compilation of poetry has been available since 2007, publishing new editions about once a year.
Each edition features a variety of poets chosen by the editors. This blog features our published poets.
More new works from the Mid-Atlantic Region are available at DePoetry.com. For feedback, contact depoet@capegazette.com or go to facebook.com/delawarepoetryreview.
