Night
Gaia Holmes
The bedroom window is open.
The coldness of the coming storm
masks the thick scent
of last night’s love.
The moon is low
and I am thin as tracing paper,
nothing left but my outline.
My head is full of voodoo,
my frail breath
like brittle oranges,
and you lie on the bed
in your crucifixion pose.
My task is to keep you alive
with the voltage
of my yew-tipped fingers,
to make you cry like a new born.
The dome of the mosque
glints at me across the rooftops
like a fat and mystic eye.
Outside, children crazy on the electric
dance in a trance,
heels thumping, hair streaming,
plastic sandals flapping on warm tarmac.
Tonight the world is full of sprites.
from Dr James Graham’s Celestial Bed (Comma Press, 2006)
this poem is much too good to be free. it’s awesome… and i feel like i should pay you something for having read it.
I’m glad you like it, Cands.
You could always buy a copy of Dr James Graham’s Celestial Bed!
Yes, I’m hoping mine’s going to plop on the doormat this morning! Along with my Padel, which I really want to read on the train into London tonight…..can you tell I’m excited about the reading *grin*?
And rightly so! I’m looking forward to hearing about it.
She has a bead on the pulse of something truly energized, almost mystic in the way she can re-create her physical experience of being alive.
I went to amazon USA to find this book, and it was sold out! I’m heading to Powell’s to find a copy.