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    Water Invites Heaven To Sink
    Water Invites Heaven To Sink
    Water Invites Heaven To Sink
    Ebook73 pages25 minutes

    Water Invites Heaven To Sink

    By Erica L Shugart

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Water Invites Heaven To Sink is a confrontation of the best kind - a vivid journey to a life beyond mental chatter. The author generously hands us her personal experience of new motherhood, nature, and human relationships in order to make room for new and forgotten stories. She writes about Eros, coming of age, death, wilderness, war, a

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherErica Shugart
    Release dateJun 9, 2021
    ISBN9780578935218
    Water Invites Heaven To Sink

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      Book preview

      Water Invites Heaven To Sink - Erica L Shugart

      First published in 2021

      Copyright © 2021 by Erica Shugart

      ISBN 0 578 92736 7

      Designed and typeset by Lucy Allen

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may

      be reproduced or used in any manner without

      written permission of the copyright owner except

      for the use of quotations in a book review.

      For more information, address:

      [email protected]

      for Winter

      CONTENTS

      Home

      Just in case

      Rewilding

      Snake

      2:00 a.m. in Los Angeles

      Birth house

      My fight

      Swim team

      The most romantic thing

      A place for foolish things

      Midwife

      Post-partum

      No one escapes an empire

      Kids

      Equinox

      Space

      Excision

      Mother’s Day

      When mystery leaves us

      Autumn

      Pursuit of truth

      Unbecoming

      Other men

      Her anger

      Lost connection

      Bird striking glass

      Winter

      Where did the elders go?

      Fox yard

      To fall for an element

      If we are snuffed out tomorrow

      Sovereign

      Healing

      Resurrection

      Like hope

      New life

      Meditations on matter

      Regenerate

      Home

      is across the sea,

      where men smell

      of the days catch.

      They slam malty pints

      on my table after belting

      out the ancient way

      of telling. Wind chimes

      threaded with Donegal shells

      from the deepest cerulean

      dance shadows

      on Mary’s wall at noon.

      In the back of his van

      there are carpentry tools

      & surfboards, & tasting

      salt on young skin.

      I ride his waves

      until the swell

      of his pupil

      becomes the undertow,

      until he walks into battle

      against something

      that needs all

      his attention.

      His hand, claw

      of heron, reaches for my

      invisible throat

      & there is a soft

      Connemara voice

      saying,

      go home.

      Just in case

      Ants line a path to another potted plant,

      & I’m trying on my last steps

      to our door. He’ll be curled up

      next to the boots I trip over,

      his long body muted in low light,

      fingers holding tight my tongue.

      Prisms I hung in each window,

      pillows for the cat, a garden

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