Tuesday Poem: East by Emma Alvarez Gibson

Monday, 6th December, 2010

Emma Alvarez Gibson




On dark country roads the stars shine

onto my head, the smell of wet earth

enters through open windows

while I fly out,

gliding just above the open space,

and the sound is wide, smooth ribbon.

An ice age thaws

while empires burn down,

the beginning and

the end,

and I’m home.


Emma's worked in the entertainment, publishing, automotive, spa and food service industries, and was quite arguably the world’s worst waitress. She's also co-founded a theater production company, co-wrote, co-produced and performed in a two-woman stage play, and once performed a Shakira song in Spanish at a fundraiser.  She loves stories about Antarctic exploration, her trusty Canon Rebel, red lipstick, a good gin and tonic, and graph paper. You can read her blog and follow her on Twitter, she's also the mastermind behind Jack Move magazine and a great laugh.

I love this little-big moment the poem brings us, dream-like and sensual. I love the line 'and the sound is a wide, smooth ribbon.' The poem is tiny but well formed and it holds huge things. Lovely.

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I feel like I have been in this position before, have felt those dark wet stars shine on the crown of my head. Beautifully formed. Thanks for sharing Emma's work, Helen!

really like the ordinary weirdness about this one. best line is the wide, smooth ribbon

A wonderful gentle poem. I think it's when a poem is light and soft and almost a whisper that you remember them and they seem so real.