Listening to the radio
on the experiences of young people waiting for heart transplants
(hope and diminution in equal measure; a pendulum ride)
I have a compulsion
to donate mine
If only I could survive without mine
to give the boy his ...
A strange idea?
Ripping open the rib cage and proffering a
to someone who is desperate for it;
The ultimate demonstration of love
The destruction of the possibility to love
Let Them Eat Cake by Poe
Or, do I need to thread my needle
my own collapsing
Grief is an intensely private thing.
It seeps around the edges of floating paper like developing liquid
until gradually the outline of a human being comes into resolution.
It turns nightsong of small birds into melancholy
and tips the fairground ride of life upside down in a tragic accident.
But we paid so much for the tickets - how can this be allowed?
Perhaps whoever arranged this thinks that if we are launched up
into space on the Big Dipper we might forget-
heady with adrenalin and Andromeda..
They are wrong.
It is said that there are distinct stages of grief like ink
separating out into component colours, crawling along blotting paper...
But all I see is red, eyes closed and looking at the sun.
Eyes like Cherries
My eyes look like cherries
my mother said, a hundred miles
away and on the phone.
I thought at once that this
and also an unusual comparison
of prized fruit and anatomy.
An amalgam of kitsch doll
and catholic stigmata story.
I wanted to rush to her,
hold her and tell her no- they
were not; they looked like eyes- it would be OK.
But I also wanted to ask if her heart
felt like a pulpy mango neglected
in the bowl
and if this was what she truly wanted
to talk about.
They nuzzled together in
cocooned in floating blue nylon
under the bridge;
discarded litter swimming
ahead like heraldry.
Commuters walked past.
He -with his face turned away,
Indigo sleeping bag pulled up about his ears,
She -facing the world.
Cloud blonde and contemplative.
Face lit from one side like a Braques or Bladerunner mermaid,
Viewing the punters on the bus
in their Vaudeville Show
and feeling good about herself
against the warmth of his limbs,
the escape from her solitude.