Poetry

The flight was long. We didn’t touch.
Somewhere over the Atlantic,
I ordered my complimentary glass
of red wine.

the gods watched over. And it was briefly true.
The gods. Their attention.
When I was little, we lived on heirs’ land,

Last night, we made love for the first time
in a long while. You held me as you always
have, a little uncertainly, and then with resolve.

Darkness without
 

Up or down

Lying heavy in lightness

It isn’t the most beautiful town on the coast,
but I adore it: the crumbling friary said to be haunted
by the Black Nun, the stone house on a short cliff.

Bathed in sun & its fluorescent bloom, I walk
            into the narrow track along Old Taylor Road.

The strippers threw an art show at the community gallery.
Apportioning the boxed wine at the opening, we all wore
protest stickers feminists had plastered on the windows—

A mother’s prayer scents the road and charts the course.
Before the journey, impatience grows between my bones. We gather,

I rode him for years, my enemy.
That red horse fated to the back
paddock and dog food factory,