Ekphrasis for a Movie my Mom Loved (After Up)

erin vosters

I don’t know how to do this yet: be something 

the sun could sing through. The admonishing old man 

and the kid asking questions; the woman 

who wanted more than she got. It’s my turn now 

to steer what we’re borne in, hanging on by a garden hose 

or some other just-dressed slipstream. It feels hollow 

when I hold it. Somewhere in the world is water 

that falls so long it dissolves at its end, 

phasing it fully to light. You might find 

you’re always looking for something. You might find

more if you let go. You can find new friends 

in the treetops if you release your hold on what 

you hope for. I don’t know how to do this yet 

and I might never work it out. There’s time, though. 

She always said so. We don’t always phase into light 

when we get to where we were going

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Erin Vosters (they/them) is a midwife and writer from Winnipeg, Manitoba, on Treaty 1 territory. They have previously published in Juice, the bilingual online publication of Poetry Lab Shanghai, and chouette. They have work forthcoming in Maisonneuve.

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