We need to retrieve some scent from a luminous rose that glows in our garden in the small hours. Plant-light softens the darkness. A flourish of pink elegance above the summer border gone to seed.
1930s. Childhood holiday snaps, Llandudno, Filey. I can see it there already – the consciousness of her limbs as a series of compositions, an attenuation of parts that will become the official portrait. Around her, the aura of invisible mitres as the glue sets on the frame that will turn the art of being into […]
it transpires that telling your GP you are concerned with your ephemerality will not accomplish a great deal. there is no prescription currently available to cure such fears and any decent psych would be too much of the same mind to help. moreover the doctor’s surgery only exacerbates the problem, after all – in what […]
It perches there, ripe and globular; knitted together from the pinks of the world, orbiting its own red roundness like a planet collapsing; […]
His hellos like snow in the desert like gulping air after five years under. Him saying your name like first summer rain like sunset orange like tumblers in a lock like you might be his.
Under 17 days of ash, Robert Landsburg rises and wipes dust from his backpack. Unwraps his camera; unwinds film from its casing. He’s up on shaking legs; begins to click the shutter release, as the cloud of black and heat recedes, and the air shrieks. He stands and watches as the mountain implodes.
Just sort of floating. Letting everything become a carousel. It comes in waves. It runs to the moon of the wiretrap nervous system and nudges you into a black hole. […]
secrets are sticky rice packages tied with coarse string. they sit in red stomachs swallowed in black pulsing lungs under a yellow gravestone.
The man’s crippled dog sat silently, it was white. The man was writing, the paper was white. The man’s face was sorrowful, his face was white. The ink spilled, the paper was still white. The clouds overhead floated, they were white. A plane soared over, its belly was white. The ink is soaking in the […]
mama, remember your cool hand on mine. remember, I was twelve and consumed with thinness. remember you lay beside me on the starchy sheets and talked about healing. about your own mother, how you became a kite, straining away from her. about the summer your hair knotted up like moss in the shower drain. mama, […]
that on the last day of july my father would tell the story of how they had met so young in photos i once saw of an eighties blurred with rain and home haircuts how easily she had made her impression and left it there that years later he […]
My book of Blake slid unnoticed into the tracks. As the train skidded in, I climbed on, unaware. Later, as my fingers rooted for it, too sick of watching The landscape blur stickily by, I noted my loss. I pressed my forehead against the lukewarm pane, and thought. Thought of the pages slicked back with […]
In 1927, the Chinese Civil War broke out between the Nationalists and Communists. Peasants joined the fight, not knowing nor caring which side they fought on. They often joined the army for the meals. Many perished, trying to escape starvation. the last hen died / fourteen days ago / while you puffed your chest / for faceless […]
this can’t be real. the air is pink, and all the birds have migrated. when my mouth breaks the surface of the water i kiss the ripples, taste chlorine, remember salt. shake off the dream like water droplets. we drive to the beach. i’ve never been in the same place twice: the earth doesn’t stay […]
Tonight, I’m dreaming of the crucifix. Jazz plays in the background and trumpets weep. Someone shouts the swan is drowning over the sound of someone crying. I remember singing myself awake in my cot, boys on bicycles strumming guitars outside my window. I was a deaf Juliet, making words to you […]
Elsa Corbluth is the author of many poetry collections, the most recent of which is Eighteen to Eighty: A Life Sketched in Poems (Bardic Media, 2011).