On Grass
Tall, swampy routes
Into the night, and the after,
Pleasant dawns
In the bones, in the troughs,
Platitudes wrung out
Dripping on to grass,
On the concrete,
On to grass
*
The golden light
The early chill
Bites me
Into this heavy space
Of bones resting, pouring gaze,
The soft ache
Of knowing
On this grass: awake
A Serbian Woman
She is pure and authentic
In her artifice
Performative
As a church gathering
She shaves her legs
Dyes any greys
Fills lips and breasts
To the painful side of bursting
She must purr and gesture
At the table outside
With her cigarette and Nescafe
Filtering through afternoons
She must hold herself
As an offering
Of strength
She must work hard
For pennies
As nurse, midwife,
Vase
She must cook and
Pickle in the summer
Store jars,
Dip bread in the juice
Leftover from sliced tomato
She must drive through
Busy polluted streets
And care for her mother
Her father
Her relatives who emigrated
She must cry
When it is sad, when it is time,
And rejoice
Always
In the milestones of others
She must accept men’s attention
Without encouraging it
She must be a loyal friend
And celebrate the appropriate Saint’s Days
She is scorched diamond
Woeful warrior
Ground-down mistress
Deep-set mound
Remember we are always beginning
Peaceful waiting
Humble certainty
Ticking stillness
In all that has not yet unspooled
Benevolent forces
Draw strings and shapes
In heavenly sequences
And we are yet to know
Their intricate patterns
And how they fit
On to our skin
And nestle
In to our lives
Joy brings
A lightness of mist
In the morning
Purging the night’s dreams
Of torture and clenched teeth
Some tension always
Made concrete on the pillow
A way with words
Stirs the right ones up
In a bath of petals
And vine leaves
In the fragrant mulch
Of all that has been
We splash against the surface
Of our new beginnings
Light a candle
For those not present
Let the tiny flame
Conjure life
_____________________________
Charm
My charm is that I’m genuine
My charm is that
My tongue is loose and free
Sometimes I act up
Play the role
Of the disagreer
I enjoy arguing
It adds a fire
I like rubbing up against
Hard surfaces
I like to spark
To smell smoke
To let things die in ember
_____________________________
To smell a rose
Taut as the string
Of a violin
Skirting the edge:
Insect feet
Dew
Hexagonal cells
With tightrope precision
The scent rings out
An orchestra
Of powder blossom eggshell apple
An incantation,
Its rapture
Wraps us
In voluptuous
Presence
_____________________________
It is not too late, it is never too late
Oh, humility
When you embody
All that galls you
Like the blackest tar
Left bled in the ground
Sodden down and heavy
Heavy with it
Repelled by beauty:
Oh, turn me into a villain already
Easier that
Than to change
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