Carole Nelson Phillips poetry is going from strength to strength. Carole returns with stirring & powerful new works, as we have come to expect. There is a new voice emerging in her works, new influences, read on ; compare... - editors bmp
BMP6 nzpoetsonline
NEXT
BACK
fractured
I've lain for days upon my high bed - no inclination, watching gravel trucks passing over a dead hawk run paper flat, ready to float should some boot nudge it
I'm beginning to accept that you & I are fractured beyond reconcilliation no words just blank sheets of paper a silver rattle wrapped in tissue the rose planted for your child
today I climbed down from my high bed, walked the back way to the market for cigarettes, milk & coffee, paid the girl who told me she'd seen you, him that the child weighs 8 pounds I smiled, face like clay as if it might crumble to be swept away with the days dust
on the road home I stopped by the hawk nudged it with my boot
she keeps one mirror out of necessity, to adjust her hat
that boy leaning against shiny tiles outside the buy sell or swap shop
he was the kid with the blue guitar moved as a braid of water around the sounds
promise filled he spark exploded clamped teeth over rubber, pain ran from his eyes, now standing there shorn head beautiful face, instruments, cracked china behind glass
If she wasn't so afraid of meeting his gaze she'd take his hand lead him behind glass uncurl his fingers place them on strings
>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<< choices of a depressive
she could:
uncork that bottle piss coloured sharp to the nose drink till she puddles at her feet
take the man who wants her between her thighs to forget the one who doesn't
draw thin metal across flesh till she drips from fingertips
uncap a vial whisper prayers twist silver on her finger till sleep came
dial a number on a white card
>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<< later, I remembered what I'd forgotten about you
A coat from the back of a wardrobe cut into a more acceptable shape, a needle, pushed, pulled through cured skin, blood spotting silk
under the fur of a dead thing, dreaming of plaster masks hollow eyed, no mouths, rigid tongues wet protruding from deaf ears
you walked out of my past with a bottle of whiskey & I drank till I couldn't see, lay on my bed felt the wet worm squirming, blind seed spilling on fur
after you left I stood on wet grass lit the drum, watched grey smoke curl heard fur burn heard my scream
>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<
empty
when you knocked I was dreaming of a hollow egg found beneath a buddleia tree there was no nest
you said your brother arrived as you sliced chicken he wanted money there was none so you fed him while he told you he'd looked through his window seen I'd torn down the mud faced icons from his walls & all that was left was an empty space
>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<
She'd write on blue paper wouldn't phone (for zola)
a plane, train time & place there would be a common corner no, she wouldn't wear a carnation what coat or no coat would depend on the weather
they would falter briefly, she would know his face not the sound of his voice he would speak first
he'd say there should be an avenue of kowhai here but maybe they would die in the city & capsicums don't grow well in window boxes
she'd write on blue maybe yellow paper enclose photos of cathedrals flour mills
send it airmail
>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<
Well if I'd said I was a vegetarian they would've made me stay longer
to sleep quietly was all I wanted, the warm drift into black free of guilt
I was okay heading down alone till you sent a lifeguard I refused his rope but he multiplied & they bundled me into a steel boat headed to a cold port the sterility of white
where they turned me inside out, put me with corpses trying to breathe, frowned with fingers & tongues, fed me limp slices of pork, sweet bowls of sperm coloured junket
I wiped the corners of my mouth for their approval raised the graph of their prognosis till they let me go with an extra ten pounds of guilt a suitcase & 2 coins for the phone