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The Thread

Don Paterson
Jamie made his landing in the world
so hard he ploughed straight back into the earth.
They caught him by the head of his one breath
and pulled him up.  They don’t know how it held.
And so today thank what higher will
brought us to here, to you and me and Russ,
the great twin-engined swaying wingspan of us 
roaring down the back of Kirrie Hill

and your two-year-old lungs somehow out-revving 
every engine in the universe.
All that trouble just to turn up the dead
was all I thought that long week.  Now the thread
is holding all of us: look at our tiny house, 
son, the white dot of your mother waving.

Copyright © 2005 by Don Paterson. From Landing Light. Used with permission of Graywolf Press.

Copyright © 2005 by Don Paterson. From Landing Light. Used with permission of Graywolf Press.

Don Paterson

by this poet

poem
I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;

one big thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame, 
before the lens pulls through the frame

to where the woman sits alone