Poetry

Skeleton

‘Hold out your hands,’ she says

and places the silver key on my palms,

it fits across both perfectly. ‘It can

open any door you choose, anywhere.

Keep it close, always.’

 

So I swallow the key. Safe in my belly

it stays, and safe from my memory

until every door I face

declares it’s locked.

 

It can’t be. It can’t be.

 

The memory stirs and I try to regurgitate.

It doesn’t work, and the doors laugh.

 

From inside me, the key calls out.

Unlock.

 

The doors are silenced by my voice.

I swallowed the key

and became it.

 

Poetry

Worlds apart, but ever close

In mid-flight, I heard your call,

Never knowing it was you at all.

As I neared the tallest hills,

My eyes caught sight and I was stilled

In the being of you:

Trickling words, algorithms of many hues.

Days, weeks, hours all passed,

I finally know at last,

Wherever I go, you will be.

We are utterly each other’s key

To our future prime.

We’ve given up being blind.

Poetry

Butterfly Nets

I recall the shine of your teeth in the dark

as you smile at me

in a moment of snatched privacy.

Outside, the stars hang high

though the moon has hidden itself under a duvet of clouds.

Whispers of the breeze

rustle off our clothes as we speak of future adventures

when time doesn’t have to be caught

with butterfly nets

and the key in my pocket will be ours,

not mine.

Poetry

The Rubbish Sack

When you open the rubbish sack, what do you expect to see? The empty packets of last night’s tasteless dinner? A card from someone you once knew so well it was like having a twin? That unopened box of over-fragrant toiletries your cousin of a cousin of a cousin gifted you three Christmases ago?

Why are you looking in there anyway? In that black hole of discarded things? You’re searching for a key? Oh, what kind of key? …You don’t know? Then what good will it do even if you find one?

Don’t you try to drown me out with that bag of sprouting spuds.

Hey. Hey! HEY!

Poetry

The Shackles That Have No Key

I hunt the moon

as it searches the sandy shores,

looking for the key it will never find.

My licking flames

touch its hide,

illuminating it for all the world to see,

but so lost

in its task is it

that the heat worries it not.

With a whine of despair that only hints

at the true longing

in its crater flecked heart,

it extends its gentle, pale

hands down to tug at the ocean,

pulling the waves back like blankets

cast from a bed.

Come now, my friend,

I cannot remove your shackles,

but I can take you from them.