all types of weather
lies through the Sky
yet the Sky remains
in Joy of Being
.
Spaciousness complete
Category: free verse
(after Duplex by Jericho Brown)
in her bedside drawer a secret sharp on my bedside table a scolding tea a tea that burns my tongue and throat into my stomach down into my arms down into my arms and up into lungs lungs that pause and clench the heart my heart that clenches to a question is the skylight closed in her 14-year-old room my 14-year-old’s room built eight years ago which went unused when her head lay with mine unused when her head lay next to mine before the ghost in the blues of my dreams in the blues of my dreams a ghost in my arms circles the altar of our family room our family room with a cornered orchid pink flowers faded beside the stone pink flowers beside a stone I once held when I birthed her raw out over my room when I birthed her roar out over our room that first night alone her held in my arms this night now alone without her here held a silence raw between our rooms in her bedside drawer her secret was sharp on my bedside table a scalding tea
Competition –
An expression of an artist’s soul in colour and/or shades-
Death –
Coming head to head with another person, persons, team or teams to find a winner and a looser-
Book –
A piece of fruit tied to the story of Adam an Eve-
Carpet –
Surrendering of all tension in the body of being or in the body of the world-
Winter –
The opposite of life, the abyss of the unknown-
Painting –
A floor covering made of soft material-
Apple –
Pages bound together and filled with words or pictures-
Peace –
The coldest season
i battle with a body primed to run
the same as yesterday
what haven’t i done?
what have i done?
i haven’t taken my pills
i have taken my pills every day
a guilty urge to hide in bed
it’s then i remember
we’re still in lockdown
i think of my feet
i feel into my hands
.
interrupting my tricks to fix
a familiar sound
thumping feet on the floorboards
a wide gait trot
from his bedroom to mine
.
he pauses at the edge of my mattress
giggles when he meets my eyes
roughly pulls up the doona
bums his way into bed
and begins stroking my skin
mummy’s shoulder he sighs
then moves his hand to my mouth
Shhhhhhhhh
.
we have time this morning
a suburb away
today his sisters are with their dad
no school runs
no disability day service
just him and i
with nothing in particular
to have to do
.
Shhhhhhhhh i copy
blowing the sound onto his hand
do it again he delights
Shhhhhhhhh i sound
onto his forehead
.
He rests his face onto mine
the hair on his chin
a soft prickle on my cheek
my exhale slows
he sniffs at my mouth
wincing at my un-brushed breath
he pushes my shoulder away
cuddle Mummy’s back
i laugh and turn
.
he spoons in close
strokes the skin on my collar bone
his nose tip touching the back of my neck
Mummy’s shoulder he sighs
A pale orchard is the speaker
he is older than bones
older than a visitor flickering beyond night
dropped in Blood Mother’s hand
a sheet draped white yellow flower
reveals he is close
close to her sweetest internal rhyme
he dances words from the eardrum of her ocean cave
Point Nepean
on the path to Gunner’s Cottage
echidna buries its head
Fort Nepean
on the cliff’s edge
admiral butterfly chases dragonfly
Sandringham Village
at the cafe entrance
barrister shoes white moth
Sandringham Beach
ladybird walks internal bind
of book on Forgiveness and Other Acts of Love
behind the mirror
your rough skin and thick neck
my face delivered into working hands
a river salt leached in compound tide
palms breathing internally like a cup
heels compressed into my chin
into the folds of my forehead
skin peeled fingers
bearing weight
your shoulders braced away from wrists
.
a piece of the ground
polystyrene impacted
reduced to glutinous meal
luxuriating in a dish of rind
honey muzzled
the bread sopped egg
cavern shadow dipped
in molten soup
yolk disguising
a tempest spoon
on turquoise ground
rooftops are flag forced
revolution red
risking reprisals
yellow stars are ripped
on the city outskirts
in homage to a stolen lama
a Shigaste restaurateur
pull curtains
over Beijing’s chosen Panchen
old man whispers of a secret
picture of Dalai
in the capital
binoculars pore over prostrations
and Buddha’s blessings are molested
at temple gate checkpoints
machine gun operators
operating their lungs
over chanting nomads
om mani padma hung
clockwise hum plaited
into hair of pilgrims
a Tibetan grandmother
holding my arm
guiding me to spin
the prayer wheel
in the base of my belly
in my neck
behind my eyes
in my right breast
melted butter
and sage fired
Jokhang air
a ticket home
one way permeability
all Tibetan passports
were confiscated in 2012
becopoetry 