Nusye McComish – SouthSeaEyes

the torn terrain
calls for ritual
cigarettes
morning coffee
this is the new breakfast
i live here now
my new residential mindscape

this texture of grief is the obsidian peaks
marking
the depths of
abyss of loss

meteoriote slammed into
wide open flatland
gently sloping toward
pebbled seafront
old pier jutting out
architectural arches
smooth paths

wreaking havoc
wreaking absolute havoc
obliterated
burnt
torn
the earth’s crust
ripped open
to leave obsidian jagged peaks
and sharp footing for the survivor
to walk on

sometimes she has shoes
sometimes her feet are bare
navigating the terrain cuts her soles
bleeding
smarting
stinging
but she must keep going
–there is no other way

if she stays
the obsidian peaks
will pierce slowly
through broken skin
cutting through layers
of nerve endings
growing–
twisting 
deeper
threading through muscle
the glass will cut
through her spine
shards left behind
regrowing
into obsidian growth
devouring all that is
she

until she becomes
part of the terrain
that devours
everything
that dares to stop

sharp-edged black
glinting glass
sprouting from every
thought
that tries to heal
breeding in her skull
scattered
across every path
her mind attempts to walk

a friend stated, ‘I didn’t know you smoke,”
slowly I responded,
‘my friend,
I smoke when I’m
on fire,”
she laughed, realising
the grief-stricken widow before her
may yet survive this deathscape

tears burst forth from chest
gushing broken the
silent room
this too happen in driving car
on needed travels
there is no Norm here
just threading survival
one stitch after another

bursts are the only present rhythm
steadiness long gone
sharp is the only terrain
tears oddly smoothes the landscape
and tamped the overwhelm

Are these new landscapes permanent?
screaming, YES! came the answer
the only way out is through, thought i
unbidden, the answer harsh came,
No, darling. The only way through is You
tilling the land
find new ground beneath
roll up your sleeves, darling
your work must begin
the new moon today
darkly glints its start for you

You either work the land
or this is your permanent landscape
is it your choice, dear girl
sit here in permanent bleeding skin
smarting from each cut
the landscape twists
or you till the land and plant
a new seed
The old, the what-was has been torn asunder
there is none left behind
no need to look behind you
you’ve nothing left to console you there
there is no way out of this
no dream to wake from
your choice is simple
work the land
find a nourishing ground
then find the seed you carry
and plant
tenderly nurture
and you may be lucky
the seed might take
the plant may grow
there is no short-cut
roll up your sleeves
pull a cigarette, drink
black
coffee
maybe you’ll survive this.

-nusye mccomish, southseaeyes, new moon, 24 August 2025-