Kristen de Kline #176 Hometown

I
a white rose embedded
on the high ceiling

blades,   rotating
fasterquickerfaster

don't talk
of what
you miss

flowering, Pohutakawas
bursts of red splash on blue


II
always, it was the ceilings
stretched out on mattresses, sheets
crimson, rain like tears, looking
up at those Edwardian
ceilings, always


III
driving past the volcanic crater
we slept in on school nights
do not go gentle into that good night
reciting Dylan Thomas for our first period English class
rage, rage against the dying of the light
listening to Leonard Cohen
tea and oranges 
rags and feathers

IV
I toss two words on a brown paper bag
we've taken the Merlot out of:

'high ceilings'

I falter on the word 
'loss'

trip over the word   
'forever'

a thin cord catapults down from the
ceiling, someone puts me to
bed, pours me a tumbler of
water, tells me: it's OK
you'll
get
through 
it


V
the Sky Tower erupts
at midnight
fiery colours
splash across the harbour
you freeze-frame the numbers 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1
on your Samsung Galaxy     
I turn another page, strike lines
through the beach childhood Brown's Bay


VI
When I left the last time
a pack of dogs, jet-black
chased me all the way down Jervois Road
out of town, I hitched a ride
on State Highway One
holdyourheaduphigh
anddon'tlookback

VII
2018. I'm staring up at the high
ceiling in the Grafton half way
house a fixture pressed in a rose
design: off-white,  nicotine
blemished

God how I’ve missed those bloody ceilings