Word-poem:// Magpie


A hoard of curiosity has become
swelling heaps of ignorance I dwell among.
When I was more arrogant, I thought I knew
what to save. Now it is all the same.

My questions are all foolish now:
Why don’t tattoos rub off as skin cells do?
Do seagulls drink saltwater? If I were imprisoned
in a cell without a faucet,  would I drink toilet water?

A collection of pottery suns on the west wall
greets me daily, and below, pictures of my son,
and my son’s sons. I have dreams no one wants.
I have breast cancer, I’m buried in rubble, I’m drowning.
I can no longer rise from the armchair without aid,
so I stand all day. If I cry, it’s only the memory
of a once-supple body. 

I long to sort memory into piles, scorch the rubbish
in an enormous bonfire. I can’t see crevices
of meaning or harvest what is left of those
who have passed before me. It’s the sudden beauty
that haunts me, laced as it is with suffering.
These conjoined twins, our inheritance.
The dead are only dead for us.


This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s