Poetry

Powder puff

I stare out at the breeze lifting the fushia flowers from the plant, seeing

only fairies with puffy blossom skirts

and skinny legs dangling out beneath.

When they fall to the ground, I think, ‘Oops, there goes

another one who was too weighed down by her dress.’

Visions like this come often;

bursts of another world thrown

at me like powder at a colour festival.

I drink them up and let them buzz inside me for the rest of the day.

Poetry

Dandelion Clock

On your fingertips dandelion stops, 12am

and the black hole in your belly grows.

You wonder if it will suck you in eventually.

 

1am, dandelion rises up and drifts to the windowsill

on your anxious breath. Look out, invisible bars.

 

By 2am your handprint is fixed into the glass. Dandelion dances

across your arm and down towards the fireplace.

It can feel the inhale of the chimney.

 

3am goes unnoticed as you cram your body up

the chimney after it, ignoring the flames engulfing your legs.

 

A sneeze confuses dandelion

as it trails back to watch you burn slowly,

4am chiming hollow in your ears.

 

Dandelion nests in your hair at 5am,

attempting to restart your brain

so you can see you have now become the fire.

 

The birds twitter when 6am arrives;

dandelion plays the music notes in the air

and leads you to the bath

where your blistered and charred skin

can be soothed by ice water.

 

7am, and it looks like you haven’t struggled at all.

Poetry

The Vision

As the weightless wings brush my face,

fluttering against my vision,

I feel the path open up again.

A shallow wave licks my ankles

and fills the rock pools

with miniature lifeforms

that have no idea I’m here.

Like full lips parting

the wave draws back.

My feet follow,

ignoring the jagged rocks

that threaten to pierce the skin.

In the distance,

I see the family beckon to me,

holding out their hands for me to grasp.

But I’m bodiless,

my grip lost

to the horizon.

Once again,

I must turn away.