Gaia Holmes’s ‘Desert Island Discs’

 
Desert Island Discs
Gaia Holmes
 
Downing coffee like whisky at a funeral wake,
me, the dog and Desert Island Discs.
I’m marooned at this sixteen-acre table
eating toast that fills my mouth
with the whole of the Sahara,
remembering the legend of breakfast in bed.
 
Passion is a bright parrot you occasionally pull out,
me – I’m a slave to the cause,
a constellation thief,
throat ripped to fuck from swallowing stars,
dying to shine like Venus, like Pluto, like Mars,
like the big bright planet that I’m not.
 
I want a light show every morning,
a gala in the yard,
fat cherubs blessing each corner of our bed,
a rain of petals blushing on the skylight.
I want your commitments sculpted out of cumulus
and written in the sky.
I want a sonnet of your devotions
tattooed onto my spine in gold leaf.
 
Maybe I’m asking too much.
  
 
from Dr James Graham’s Celestial Bed (Comma Press, 2006)

4 thoughts on “Gaia Holmes’s ‘Desert Island Discs’

  1. Michelle Post author

    “me – I’m a slave to the cause,
    a constellation thief,
    throat ripped to fuck from swallowing stars,”

    Isn’t it great, Monique.

  2. christine

    I wish I were like the speaker of this poem, unafraid to express her wildest passion. The wholeness of it, the cosmic level of it, is amazing.

    I’m more like the person who pulls out the occasional parrot, sigh.

  3. Michelle Post author

    C, you made me smile.

    Perhaps, there is a time for pulling out parrots, and a time for swallowing stars …

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