i have it in my face
Kristiva's Black Sun.
It smouldered in June, July.
In August breaking through to pit my heart,
to centre skew September,
to blow away any gift of spring,
if there was any to begin?
Some pretence is authentic
in a show of windy flowers.
But not with friends.
My friend Charlotte reminded me
of the concentrated spread,
guidance in the shade, a reprieve
- the thin veil -
sometimes so face tight
in temples. Cohen’s light
Asking for cracks
"Hold on for October"
Charlotte said,
“They are here our loved ones.”
All last week
Max yelled "Great Grandma, Great
Grandma"
as i upped my dose
he clapped "Great
Grandma” in joy.
My friend Claire asked Max what is said?
Max with one word
held his autistic gaze on her,
"poetry"
- a question? a message? a request? -
She said he had a hand on the book
of Melancholia.
Claire went on to read to him.
Her recitation behind the spring sun chant
"Great Grandma, Great
Grandma."
I think of Jean in his light
lifted
i return to poetry.
It’s been a long time.
And I don’t care if it’s bad.
It feels good.
i write now on my white couch,
door open, a black moth
flies into the house.
i am struck by its liveliness.
A dance above Max’s song.
He stops, the moth stills.
meeting my eyes, Max commands,
"Show mummy your worksheets!"
12/12 correct!
Who sang?
Tick.
20/20 correct!
What Animal at sea?
Tick.
7/7 correct!
i spy ---------------
tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
"Show Mummy your worksheets!”
He chants
"Show Mummy your worksheets!"
Borderline
Dolphin
With my little eye
i hear
Great Grandma, Great
Grandma
i write
Black sun borrowed and bathed
October begins
Category: free verse
all types of weather
lies through the Sky
yet the Sky remains
in Joy of Being
.
Spaciousness complete
(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
