Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
sign me up
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
Masked, gloved, brush tucked flat
against her back, faint with heat
this vixen is silent at soirées,
attentive to talk of defence, the public purse.
Emissary from the wild woods, agent
from the other side, she shakes her head
at wine, at canapés, she gags on human
stench, their meat and sweat.
When taxis come, she slips through kitchens,
drops to all fours (still in black tie),
sprints along the back streets
like a feral duke until she meets the edgelands
where – rubbed on the shuck of a tree –
her man-skin peels off
like a calyx and the sleek red flower unfurls.
Tongue drinks in the cold,
nose down in leaf mould, deep rush and tow
of attachment, of instinct. I, the only witness,
take this for a resurrection (body sloughed
and after-life as fox-soul), so I watch
in awe and slow my breath until
she catches sight and howls and howls.
From
Poetry London No 60 (Summer 2008)
I want to go back now, through the buzzing darkness.
I want to go into that humming hive awake,
wearing the net curtain you called my veil.
I want to walk down childhood’s garden
as that girl who married her mother,
through the marguerite bed
to that nest, where my bee-queen lies
deep in her brood chamber.
I want to see the honeycomb of your mind.
I want to look into your compound eyes
where I’m reflected as an angry swarm.
I want to be that daughter whose mother has stung her
because she’s a rival,
who’s still pumping venom into her.
I want to be that childless worker
who dared to sting back, shreds
of my torn abdomen hanging off you
as I leave my stinger behind.
I have cleaned the window of my self until I gleam.
I want you to see how radiant I am
on this, my wedding day.
With all the love I now know,
I want to brush the halo of your hair
that’s grown into a comet
and mend the delicate rays of your wings.
I’ll place royal jelly in your coffin for your last flight
and close the moonlit petals of your face.
Facebook
Twitter
