1 March, 2003Issue 2.2Creative WritingOriginal Poetry

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Gilead

Amy Flanders

That wooden boat has never left the bank,
the oars lie rotten in their rusted locks,
and water seeps around a shrinking plank.
Some hand has drawn her name anew, and yet
that wooden boat has never left the bank.
This brackish creek does not lead to the sea;
it does not trill the song of stream on stone,
but goes to ground beneath a live oak tree.
We fashioned pan pipes from these rushes once.
This brackish creek does not lead to the sea.
This land has always been both bleak and green:
it takes no heed of our meek stewardship.
The hollyhocks can seed themselves between
the orchard rows where countless almonds fall.
This land has always been both bleak and green.

Amy Flanders is a DPhil student at Lincoln College, Oxford. She studies the history of the British publishing industry. One of her poems appeared in May Anthologies 2002.