Without a Net
1
this is how days start
shelves of pale light
shifting
moving slowly
a body to be cleaned
and fed
and cloaked
a river of moments
to be swum
upstream
without instinct
or desire
like dogs waiting for a call
I vacillate
the doors are closing
one side
or the other
2
my father survived
a burst aneurism
his skin turned gray
blood clamored in his throat
like birds at dawn
his lover’s presence of mind
and mercy hospital just minutes away
were his salvation
doctors peeled away
gray sky
silenced the birds
as he slept
memories leaked from hidden
places in his soul
he welcomed his life back
with a torrent of weeping
3
the baby has a cold
her first cold ever
I hold her against me
stroking her plump warmth
my shoulder aches
I shift her to the other
she spits up a hot stream
of pungent milk
everything I’m wearing
everything
needs to be washed
I’m picturing pellucid seas
in another country
dry paths
like seams of gold
I shift the baby to my lap
she blinks at me
flails her arms
and sneezes lavishly
I feel the fine spray
on my eyes and lips
this morning
I saw the photo of a germ
highly magnified
looking like a bright pink scorpion
I touch her nostrils gently
gesundheit I whisper
4
yesterday
on the news
a father murdered his children
in their sleep
an ordinary family
not barbarians tossing babies
like lumps of soft pink coal
into the ovens
not brutal invaders
playing football with the heads
of captured soldiers
a regular family
in the USA
the police officer said
once you’ve seen something
you can’t unsee it
5
sleepless
I float to the kitchen
an uneasy ghost
the dead who refuse
to stay buried
dropping layers of earth
in the corridor
the sky turns yellow
dawn songs bubble
from the throats of birds
the end of gravity
life as we imagine that
we know it
thoughts float from my eyes
this mouth was not essential
after all
this pen
is bobbing fluttering
to the rhythm
of the birds
6
soon it will be spring
I’m afraid this year
spring will be colder
than winter
I don’t want to turn into
one of those chirpy old women
reeking of solitude
but that’s the way
it’s going
I wrap myself
around you
like a cowl
not yet a tattered scarf
not yet a trailing too thin
derelict
7
this morning
the sky looks elderly
unrefurbished
rain scrapes
paint from walls
mould blooms beneath
3-D printers are producing organs
8
today a woman
passed me in the street
a parrot fastened
like a bright jewel
to her shoulder
another parrot
clinging
to her breast
traffic rumbled by
families toted bags
of weekend shopping
9
a neon coloured slug
strolls along the bottom
of the ocean
unaware of its splendor
of its strangeness
I slide my phone away
beside me
bobbing along the road
a gum-pink child’s balloon
10
my phone froze
its blank face mirrors
my blankness
I marshal my resources
stretch out feelers
of breath
reassure my fingers
clasping them
one after the other
relish the simplicity
of my heartbeats
I am I am I am
11
I’ve ordered tea
fresh green mint leaves
steeped in boiling water
the waiter smiles
we understand the rituals
of survival
12
rain at night
intentional
obscure
a steady patter
in a foreign tongue
along a rail
sleep pigeons
closed as bulbs
the moment’s coming
that will pry their wings apart
unlock their throats
13
without a net
a wingless bird
bulbous and heavy
cupped
in the wind’s hands
14
my head fits into the hollow
of my arms
like a nesting bird
twists round to make a place
for thoughts to grow
sheltered
warm
safe as an ark
that will float
as the waters rise