222
always
dreaming some kind of invasion
my mother's
house is full of school girls
and there's
the lost child from down the street
he's in the
middle bedroom
thinks he
owns the place
just comes
and goes
no different
up here
it's how they
come
by night by
stealth
you're not
expecting
the doctor
has this needle for me
won't say why
but we both
know where it goes
this last
night
they rolled
tyres across
set up a kind
of camp
it's as if
the fence
had never
been there
though in the
morning
I saw it
again
not rabbits
but kangaroos
the buses
have stopped
no one gets
to work now
it was the
children playing
got my goat
oblivious
as if the
world were theirs
just the
sunshine called them to
of course
they mock and jibe once sighted
they slip
away
wall cavities
and rafters run
sometimes get
a glimpse
when they
cross exposed beams
mostly
they're to disappear
you hear it
we always
wake to them
frosted in
winter breath
and they
might do a vanish in it
you want to
tell they're there
but wish they
weren't
what do the
others have?
is there a
logic of borders?
this side is
such
and the past
is the other part
wasn't that
us?
much of it is
wordless
but when you
really feel the presence
of course
they speak our language
we were
always here
This one really surprised me Kit, the voice to my ear is a bit different to what I hear sometimes in your poems, the oh that's Kit sense I have as a reader, (a good thing) I initially read this on my phone and didn't see your name, I thought who is this, is this Kerri? Maybe? Interesting. Arresting poem. Thank you. Voice fascinates me. Voice - subtle things you could probably quantify, analyse, but it is in that first reading and intuition I hear it, oh - and if I know the person sometimes I hear their actual voice in my mind. Such a lovely image too.
ReplyDeleteThis is a lovely mixture of memory and present life, weaving paranoia in and out of the pedestrian. The idea of borders is really significant.
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