Poems
From our correspondent
after Maggi Hambling
i.
It begins with forgetting, with emptying the mind.
With the hand, with graphite, and with the eye.
The model trembles with the effort of stillness.
Sweat travels down along the hairline.
A measured exhale. Hold.
Observe the body and its many incidents;
the back of a knee, an eyebrow, an ear. The truth
in its entirety, right in front of you.
It does not stand in a vacuum; look
how light skims the shoulder, how breeze pushes
a strand of hair. Breath is taken, and is given back.
ii.
In the life class, I draw my body.
A wide, winged form orbiting a thick core.
Loud echo of light, to the most of my reach.
I confront myself, and the argument is never over.
iii.
This is how the lies begin; seduced
by the memory of the last lip
you drew, the angle of last week’s elbow.
To reduce a body to its similarity
to another, to its category; how long
before we become a digital likeness,
an entry in a ledger, saying nothing
of our unending appetite for beauty,
our capacity to move and be moved.
The man is a jealous thief. He will catch you looking at the sunset and close the blinds. He will hear you make plans to visit your sister and put tacks on every inch of road between your houses. He will swagger around your home town smashing every window you ever looked into or out of. He will say lie every time your parents tell you they love you. He will ____ you every time he thinks you might love yourself. He will confiscate your phone and replace your fingerprints with his own. He will shoot a bird right out of the sky if he thinks you heard it sing. He will hear you sing and stuff your mouth with __________. He will hide your bank card your car keys and your contraceptive pills. He will change your passwords. He will take the books from your shelves and the art from your walls and leave it all outside overnight in the ______. He will burn your _____ in the kitchen sink. He will empty your box of precious things into the neighbour’s skip and you will only find out when you see a photograph of ____________ blowing along the road. He will smear your lips with _____ when you speak your friend’s name. He will ask you in front of his friends why you are so miserable all the time. He will look at them and laugh and say after everything I have given her
Grace
after Jeff Buckley
A man walks into a river to feel the weight of it,
to feel it hold the weight of him.
Dusk lilacs his hair and the water pours
into his boots, pushing at his chest.
He opens his mouth to sing,
lets the river in, silt on his tongue.
The rain is falling and he’s swallowing lyrics,
thinks to walk out maybe swim but his jeans
are ropes and his boots are settling stones.
He shivers. Imagines sleeping in the wide arms
of the harbour, remembers what he'll leave
behind if he stays. The shivering stops
and time clicks by, so drowsy but
not afraid; and above the water
lights