Friday 18 November 2022

Three Poems by Abigail George





The alone bird in the blue forest


I am alone

starling in

my fish-mouth

blue clouds gather inside

the inert chambers

of my heart



because you left

this chocolate croissant

is stale (tastes like

grave dust with a

cemetery heir)

must be heated up

for the sake of

the microwave



I perform a

litmus test on the

uncertainty of

a Boeing flight

and the photochemical

reaction that exits

two pondering

vessels of light

day and the moon



I say your name

as if you're standing

in the next room

I miss your kind of

love hugs but it's

a kind of incomplete

over that goes on

everlasting



what did you mean

when you said you

loved me and exploited

my body for your

mined pleasures



then you left

you vanished

I became a door

with my arm

a green branch

knotted with self-loathing

and grief

and picked up

an axe and did

that door in



until it hung off its hinges

and I was sated



sometimes I wonder

what married life

would have been like

with you



The angel tongue of a man who does not love me anymore


The mincemeat is defrosting

tears in my eyes

Pot on the table

Voices in a farm kitchen

An argument

between a husband and wife

A brother who calls me

disabled and mental

Ja, you couldn't keep a man

if you tried

That and so many other voices

Was it substance abuse

Sherry in your pudding

The marigolds are lovely, take them

Schizophrenic, snarls the man

His Jezebel wears her

Mona Lisa fake smile for me

cheap perfume

Is it my cheap perfume or hers



Voices

Hallucinations

Paranoia

Delusions of grandeur

No more love

Only the harvest of

golden-yellow sunflowers

Another summer on hold

Winter spent in high care

A lockup ward

in a mental institution



Babs never speaks to me

The mental basketcase

This word is used to

nullify me

Behave, he says, or the police

will be called

You will have a police escort

to your doom again



Nobody cares about my

Grinch life

Personal freedom

It tastes like ice cream

and flowing honey

Living like a recluse



I remember the men

How they came in numbers

In my twenties

But most of all I remember

the star signs and symbols

in a particular man's eyes

How they drooped in

the corners

How those corners crinkled

when he laughed or smiled

How he forgot about me

in a second

in a heartbeat

to grow old

to grow wise

to grow less sure of myself

to doubt my ego

how on this earth

in this world he left me

to remember his promise




Anemones and bee killers, darling


I am not safe here

I wait to be rescued

But no livewire man comes near

My glands are alive

and well and when

I eat them they dissolve in my mouth

like jelly candies



By Abigail George




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