Sunday, 19 April 2009

Been busy today!



Extended metaphor for a washing machine

My thoughts are tired of churning
churning and my nerves are sick of being soap.
My only softener is hope and there is not enough of that

only turning and the inevitable spin.
So I’m ready for more spinning and spinning
and no way to stop it, to open the door

without something spilling out. The noise
is sleep-unbearable so I hope I don’t disturb.
It follows me to bed, and everywhere the judder.



A bird, too quiet, in a holly bush

I chased the thought of save it into the holly bush
and, bare-armed, pulled out a bird too willing to be well.
Triumphant I held it close, my palm covering its eyes
from freedom and it was still. I stumbled home
with its delicate heart beating fast under my thumb,
boxed it with holes punched for air and sat for minutes
in the dark, the box between my feet.
I told no-one for fear of the right thing to do,
and named the bird over and over; a mantra
as desire for its affections, as recognition of a deed well done.
The next day its hunger was palpable through its thin
cardboard walls, though it never sought to let on.
I took the box outside and whispered its name again,
once with every step and the lifting of the lid. The bird
blinked at the sky and went to it. I called its name
to the wind, but only got the wind back. It took days
for the cuts on my arms to disappear.

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