Mid-life
Under my coat, I pulsate
like a Dutch bulb ready to
emerge from its sepal.
I’ve already faced the darkest day
and settled in this soil
I want to rush this moment,
to reveal what I have become
but the travel has been more robust
than I’ve anticipated
I need to wait out this hibernation.
A half a life away now, a lingering
fog begins to lift, I notice even the
meagre trees are full of buds,
I think I hear a birdsong.
Let the days slowly lengthen; I
might not catch its first light but
my thoughts turn towards its warmth.
In spring, I shall emerge shawled
in ripened skin, perennial and strengthened.
Far off, a young girl departs from home
bearing down the path,
her beacon, the promise of the journey.
In (im)Perfect Agreement
Harmony
is what they heard
when
he strummed his guitar
my
voice connected to his
while
he was singing Margaritaville,
closing
his eyes, garnering attention
I
accidentally slipped off key
after,
when there was no longer
an
audience he yelled at me.
I
couldn’t keep time, my rhythm
always
a little off:
it was my own damn fault.
We
would rehearse it all over again,
his
talent: a natural performer-
played
it all by ear
even
though he could never hear me.
Our
act had them all fooled
they
listened, smiling to themselves
taping
and nodding to the archetypes.
I
can still recall those words, they haunt
me
like ghosts from random devices:
it could be my fault.
Music
and liquor ran through his veins
which
may have been why he didn’t
find
it inappropriate to teach me
that
song, the family protected him
he
was their youngest but the performance
had
worn thin, away from the stage
the
dark nursed his anger and thirst
a
song could no longer quench
from
behind the curtain the harmony
was
lost:
it was never my fault.
In Between Days
Often,
I pass that little girl on the street
she
whispers: see me.
Eyes
full like the sky and moon,
her
lips hold a secret
but
her face speaks
a
wide constellation of freckles
her
body seems to float
unaware,
she balances the world
at
her feet.
I
recognise her curiosity and catch
a
whiff of her innocence.
Between
the public garden
and
the cemetery we pass each other
I
could pretend not to see her
and
then she startles me and
says
“hello” –
my
whole life rushes by
in
the afternoon light
I
lose her as she slips round the corner
and
just like the sunshine that warms
my
cheeks youth returns for an instant
and
I am reminded how I ended up here.
Waterway
Follow me, it directed
the way a calf is steered by its mother.
Docile and curious, I obey
hugging the water’s edge.
The creek was made redundant
by the old factory but has not retired.
Repurposed by stones and roots
flowing for treading fish
and the trill and song of birds,
it sustains natural life
no longer concerned with
a waterwheel or profit
I watch it, as it
runs and leads
and laugh,
because I cannot keep up.
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