Splendid in its Silence by Jude Neale | SPM Publications Poetry
The Disappearance
Her eyes were hazel, two agates
watched my every move.
Stroke
listen to her breathing quiet.
I whispered into her ear
tender words of mercy and release.
Stroke.
We lay quiet touching
this cold iceberg loss
unable to hide our love.
It hung like balloons over
the striped Mexican blanket.
The room gave up light
when she lay down
to sleep,
to dream of tall meadow grass
with me and the sun
instead of this useless ache I hold.
Stroke. Remember
there is no black hole but forgetting
and nothing more can be claimed
with my hot tears.
|
Small Lives
We lie by the fire,
arms, legs, my wet hair
and sleet burned skin.
I watch the Balinese shadows,
climb the wall.
As I dress,
your hand catches
my thin gold chain, scatters blood
coloured beads
across the hearth,
small lives, separating.
On my way home,
the moon no longer floats
but riffles like gauze
while a ring burns round it.
The muddy path is luminous
like the eyes of a fortune teller.
Frogs embed in the banks of the river.
I cross the bridge
skip over each fault,
and pull my mantle of secrets
across my emerald eyes.
His disappointment waits
like smoke
in a smokeless room.
My bloodied hands
press the latch,
Lady Macbeth before the fall.
|
Jude
Neale is a Canadian poet, vocalist, spoken-word performer
and mentor. Author of The Perfect Word Collapses, Only the
Fallen Can See, A Quiet Coming of Light and Line by Line,
Neale, Nish. Her new collection, Splendid in its Silence won
the second prize in the SPM Publications Poetry Book
Competition 2016.
|
|