It was a hot day and the car baked me;
And when I walked in the front door I was cross.
And then you filled a clear glass tulip
with dark red nectar and bid me drink.
And the world turned ever so slightly,
Allowing the hot sun to set, and we sipped
from our glass blossoms. Refreshed,
the night began [...]
The scent of the world after rain in the summer
Has, I think, no particularly formal name;
And, as far as I know, the delight at finding
A missing shoe is in a class much the same.
Knowing what another driver is about to do,
Before they begin to indicate their ambitions;
Or the path the roses trace in the wind
That [...]
The thin end of the wedge is sharp
and you will cut your foot on it,
the moment you stop paying attention
and snag on the cruel point of it.
The thin end of the wedge is sneaky
and will catch you by surprise,
the way it tapers from empty space
is deceptive to untrained eyes.
The thin end of the wedge is [...]
Though the kitchen, dimly lit,
Is less Aladdin and more Martha;
Though the chintz aprons and pink handles
scream anti-feminista.
She and I,
side by side,
are a force potent and silver.
She is shorter than I am, now,
And peppered through with salt;
I close my eyes to her clutter
And she to my waste;
and we cook,
side by side,
making dynamic noise among the pans.
We [...]
Sheets twisted from dreaming ankles
And wakelessly abandoned socks
Decorate my cotton cocoon.
My soft protective sheath enfolds me
While I undergo the transformation
From one day to the next.
I have been known, when occasion permitted,
to write poetry in bed.
An extension of erotic fiction?
Hardly, I said.
Though the inevitable thoughts
of pupils dilated, sweat, skin
skim across the page, they’re mute:
mere shadows of sin.
No, doona poetry is far more tender:
crumpet crumbs and cat hair shed,
That sort of love, love with guts,
love that tolerates poems in bed.
I dreamt of writing erotic fiction
and stirring your nerves with my lines;
I imagined my pen tracing across your skin,
leaving glistening ink along your spine.
My fine brass nib, polished point,
carves along the parchment rough,
leaving a trail of goosebumps on your hip,
and an aching sense of not enough.
I imagined inspiring a literary kind of ache,
A delicious [...]
A clean, new pad of paper,
Full of letters that are not written,
Holds such potential and such sway
I am completely smitten.
I can hardly bear to defile,
With this potent, pointed, pen,
And carve my thoughts into its face
When they seem so misshapen.
The blackbird that landed outside my window,
This morning, while there was still a chance of frost,
Looked ominous to my sleepy and suspicious eyes
As though his tiny presence brought prolific cost.
I unlatched the pane and leaned out to scold him,
He bounced out of reach on thin orange stems,
He opened a bright orange beak and suddenly caroled,
A [...]
I.
A self-contained hailstorm
and I am dissolved into a
mist of glimpses and sensations.
A supporting arm; pain;
The weeds in the cracks
where I fell down and left.
II.
I am on a drip
An IV of sour nectar
with an electric throb.
I glow with it
and my pulse is tuned:
my plastic placenta.
III.
My will subsumed
underneath the healing;
I follow beeps and pills
and orders — to [...]
