Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included only in pdf. To read them, click on their titles on the right side of this page.
I shall die in due course on a day of rain.
Not in the last bed by the exit, please,
with a loud sitcom on the gogglebox
but in an armchair during a sunshower
O troubled people, frantic creatures of an hour,
swift generations, curious growths that flower
and fade in a brief stretch of time as if
A defense of high walls
soft sea lawn
the caress of the grass
Suggest we meet inside the library.
The afternoon, aflutter with children
downstairs, sitting Indian style to hear
When they escort you to my body they will burn,
when I am watching from that other country,
when you are weary of embellishments
death insists upon, the wilting pastels,
Initially the fragments were discovered by Helena,
Mother of the emperor Constantine,
On a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in the year 327.
She kept the potatoes beneath the kitchen sink
in a dank place I never dared to enter.
But at fall planting time Mother always sent me
down into that moldy smelling cupboard,
the amaryllis bulb. That’s the verb we use:
forced it, its petals just one shade
more pleasing than blood. Do I mention
Because in her delirium, she raked my beard
with her nails and called me aba, I know
my mother travelled backwards into her death.
Wedgewood didn’t matter, my mother says,
speaking to me in a dream. The little vases
and ashtrays, the boxes littering the house,