I contemplate your arc, which has been cut.
Your projected ghost limb twitching in the glare
of my grand truncated hope.
Grief breaking bounds and bearing us
fused into myth.
Listen, I’m a mother, your mother —
It’s my job to scout ahead.
Even in a world that scoffs
at maternal prescience
I persist,
baying like a bitch at spectres —
no one heeds me.
Your sight’s been severed;
you can’t see what I see,
the absence
of what could have been.
But you sense it, approaching,
and I watch as you race
with determination
to recalibrate
your fate.
This is one of two poems I’ve had published in the second edition of Have Your Chill, a magazine published by Pete Spence’s legendary Donnithorne Street Press. This poem will also appear in my upcoming chapbook, HUSH, to be published in June by another incredible independent Australian publisher, Valli Poole’s Blank Rune Press. My thanks to both of these publishers for their inspirational work.
Comments 0
Very nice work, love the foresight and emotion in this one…
Author
Thanks so much, Tanyeno. Foresight can be a mixed blessing! x
Yes I agree! And I got the works! Thank-you? Can I send you Postal MO?!? Something?? :))))
Author
No, just your support, and I’ve already got that! So glad the books arrived. So glad you’ve got them! x
I like the way that you are dealing with ideas here, Michele. Very often I read poetry that is made up of big lumps of unmediated emotion, but this is far more satisfying.
Author
That’s such helpful feedback – thanks, Penelope.
You have a special gift, never stop sharing!
Author
Thank you so much, Wendell. You’re very kind.
I always feel such passion in your poetry, Michele… and sometimes that familiar pain that life is what it is…am I wrong?