first day in galle

white cotton sheets
still cool in the morning sun
that comes slanting in the door
as tiny footsteps clamber
into my bed and tiny arms
embrace my sleepy self

____________________

i want to live in this town
which is kind to strays
and is also kind to me
and holds out its arms
to all those set adrift
from homelands across the sea

try me

i want to put all the important bits,
the ones that make up me,
into a food processor, cuisinart,
or something of the sort,
mix, it and bottle it,
even label it perhaps,
and casually take to
carrying it on my hip
maybe one day you could try it
and then tell me what you think

late night radio

a song my first love sang to me
plays on the radio as I grieve
the loss of you, my last
and I am moved by the universe
which has deemed me fit to love
more than just once in a lifetime

no words

what to say to you – i have no words
to describe the sadness that had devoured me
to indicate the depths to which I fell
how to tell you, my love,
of how hard it has been being barefoot
in this valley of embers with its hills of flame

approach

i saw you once but only from the right
it haunted me a while at nights
i needed just another view, the same
experience but felt anew
i will fly over hill and dale again
return from the land I call home
walk right by and you won’t even notice
that I have captured your other side

someday

write me a letter, tell me the story
someday. down the road.
of why you felt it right
why you thought it proper
to wash away all that was
traces of me

pick up, move on

I always knew I’d be the one
to hold the memory,
and so I set you free.
I’ll be the keeper
for this lot of sorrow
and that bit of despair
and you can continue on -
for only one is really required
for this task. I know
I’ll buckle under
the weight of that pain
– the heartache,
but you should rest
assured at night sweet love
that I’ll bear my load well.

__________________________________________

It’s time to pack up the scars
And pick up the shards
Of my red, red heart
It’s time to pack up old sins
Place them in old jam jars
And seal them tight in
And you know - it’s time to pack up your face
To give it time to erase
From a soul hard pressed
To letting you go.

prayer

we sit on the shore
shoulder to shoulder
where palms come together
and bow low in homage.
absent, we sift the sand
thinking of distance
and the souls of the dead.
there is grit beneath my nails
silence and salt spray
burns your open wounds.

shadow play

i took a great big knife
shiny and serrated
and sliced off my shadow
my feet from his
he's been unfaithful
and i have reason to believe
he flies from me at night
to rest by your side

being helen

even little girls
in the pimply blush
of an awkward youth
and stately matrons
gliding like battleships
over ornate carpets
can be seized up
by a Trojan at any time
to be recast as Helen
beautiful forever
if but for a moment

shoelaces

it’s 8 am and I haven’t slept
for thinking about shoelaces
and how sad I feel when I see yours untied
wearily tempting fate to trip you up again.

69 Pedlar Street

let me show you
how you never grow old
i can hold back the ocean
and time too, if you need
let me be
the sanctuary for your soul
i can wake you in the mornings
with kisses and tea

31 July 2005

blow out the candles
and pass me a slice
cut at least one for
each facet of your life
admire the layers
both bitter and sweet
revel in the textures
use both tongue and teeth
alternatively though
you could put it all away
start a new life
and live it your way

lick it

Jazz.
So liquid.
Thick.
Like molasses.
Roll it on your tongue.
Taste.
Thick.
Sweet liquid.
Then,
Sharp.
And silky again.
Roll it on your tongue.
Taste that.
Jazz.

be there for me

I made you exist.
I made you be there.
When I hear the screaming
I feel the pressure of your hand.
Comforting.
I made you my hero.
I made you be there.
When I lie alone I feel you kiss
the salt from my cheeks.
Loving.
I made you for my anger.
I made you for my pain.
I made you for my love.
You’ll never exist again.

that ain't good

the sweet notes of nina
bless the sour notes of whisky
in this my dusky hour
they play on the strings
plucking out my pain
and dancing on the deathly
silence of this soul
that’s got it bad

tall tales

For a very short while,
I knew my story.
Inside and out.
A tale taller than my being,
larger than my soul.
A spirit testing
the extent of my love
as I have always prayed
to be asked to prove. I was
a battleship in full sail,
heading into a storm..
But then they told me
I was to be shelved,
in a bottle made of glass,
in the fiction aisle.
And I lie broken,
waiting for you
to read my reality.

keep going

let me live
in exaggerated motion
a flurry of movement
a fury of emotion

once you’re done

take a drop
just one, mind,
of his blood
add to it another
of your own then
keep the vial
close to your skin
blood cools faster
than you’d think

nieces

the littlest hands
want to put on my shoes
carry my handbag
walk in the mist
of my perfume
the littlest feet
clatter around
trying to be me
all grown up