ESTHER KEELEY
First Prize - 2023 Tower Poetry Competition, 'The Planets'
The Flâneur
You float through this atmosphere like it’s a mirror or a lake
where you dilute your consciousness and go swimming, turning
like a corkscrew, or a tube of lipstick, or the ribbon
that your mother used to tie the ends of your plaits with.
Coiled and then unfurling, time
lapsed, a familiar film, a stop motion spin.
You let the planets govern you like gods
that you can see but never hold —
waiting for new life like the silence between heartbeats,
you carve out a space for new holiness
and it looks an awful lot like a constellation
and did you know that the word planets comes from the Greek planetai
meaning wanderers, you are a wanderer like a planet is.
You are as free as the poem you are trying to write,
and watch as it forms on the page like a city or a canyon, telluric
in your attempts to capture you like to roam
across the nebulae with the flickering grace of a gramophone’s needle
as it lowers itself into arches and chasms of black plastic.
You lose yourself in the whorls and folds of the sky
like a tempest, you are austere, you are an auteur,
you are an acolyte, devoted as a child is
to finding the ocean in a seashell.
You do not yet know that a poem,
like a planet, can hold you for a while.