that middle space
a quickened hear
pastel tablet under your tongue
an attempt to soothe
what doesn’t make music
anymore
the horses are missing
from the merry-go-round
double dutch recess songs
still float from the village
salute to the captain
salute to the queen
touch the bottom
of the blue submarine
small town knowing is overrated
all roads lead to the strip mall
everything odd and delicate
endless days with no history
water washing stone
you grow tired of your own story
that middle space between
the real and its rendering
you want to reach up
and set fire to the moon
the new melancholy
these days everything merges into something else
even music is a simple metaphor
and blue
is just an aspect of light
commonplace magic
like the sun in a wine glass or
the sounds
that shapes make in the night
when you wander through strange cities
enter shops rimmed with fitting rooms
try on
various versions of yourself
you were once a woman of meagre dreams
your collection of sad stories
were sadder
than anyone else’s
but this is the new melancholy
everyone
standing in the desert waiting for rain
and versions of your sad face
are everywhere.
Linda King is the author of five poetry Collections including Reality Wayfarers (Shoe Music Press, 2014) and antibodies in the alphabet (BlazeVOX Books, 2019). Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals ( including Lothlorien) in Canada and internationally. King lives and writes on The Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, Canada.
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