So I've been playing catchup. Beware, the poems here are starting to grow like weeds. But you say at least something is growing. True. When the time is right I'll be hacking, plucking, pruning and planting. For now you get to see poems in their rawest form.
Yesterday from my bed
I drew a window with my eyes
I crawled out of my cocoon
and climbed out the window.
Outside the sun was warm and bright
and I recorded the blackbird's song in my mind
so I could play it back a thousand times.
to realise that being alone
is only for a time
even though it feels
like the body has been
tucked away and the heart
has stopped beating and dreams
are stored deep inside
the belly of a whale.
Today you packed me lunch:
cheese, tomatoes, pickle and ham
and I thought of all those days
you buttered my bread, thinly sliced
tomatoes, cut generous portions of ham,
and wrapped each sandwich in cling film.
You divvied out lunches for weeks and years,
and in my mind you rationed out every meal,
dividing and subdividing portions, that will
last and keep on lasting for generations.
After ten beers or more I arrive at the foot of
your bed and trace your sleeping face with the
tips of my fingers. Across your body I draw out
letters and shapes painting out continents and
large bodies of water. I kneel and say enough
hail Mary's backwards and forwards to reach
across the moon. You interrupt prayers with a
whisper and say: you pray enough for a hundred
holy men. I slur above my stupor and try to force out
words and say I could pray for a thousand holy men
but all that comes out is a screech of an eagle.
You take off my shoes and in-between baby babbling
you drag me to bed. You wrap your arms round me
and I imagine you are an anchor and I'm a boat. And
I lie on my back and count the stars through the ceiling,
the brightest one is your head, illuminating the heavens.