Marion Tracy: Six Poems

 
 
 
Marion Tracy is currently finishing up a temporary sea change in New South Wales. She has an MA in English Literature from London University and worked as a lecturer in further education in Hertfordshire. She has two grown up children and enjoys online workshops and the South Bank Poetry Library. In Australia, she has been published in leading journals Heat and Blue Dog. In the United Kingdom, she has work in Tears in the Fence, Scintilla, Obsessed with Pipework and forthcoming in the Rialto. She was commended in the 2010 Mslexia Poetry Competition and has a pamphlet forthcoming with Happenstance in 2012.

View her profile at poetry p f.
 
 
 
Bipolar
 
2 am
in the kitchen
without the light on.
I listen
to shouts in the park.
There’s thunder crashing about
and giggling in the trees
glass breaking
no moon.
One voice dancing
in the circle of headlights on full beam
is louder than the rest
her cries get right inside
my head.
I need to make her be quiet
so I run out over the damp grass
to find her.
She drops her cigarette,
pushes her skirt back down
and I see suddenly that lightning
is quite beautiful
as she takes my hand and says,
like someone who’s never afraid of the dark
and has known my name for always,
Hush now, hush your mouth now baby, hush.
 
 
Previously published in ARTEMISpoetry, Issue 4.
 
 
 
Lotus flower
 
Beauty beware, floating
tendrils will reach out to touch you.
Beastly stalks are pushed by underwater
hands from side to side.
Flat leaves, fanned out over red
soil, are waiting to split
open under the lotus flower
          kiss
which holds itself up high
like a maid with lifted skirt
above the drop and stir of
windy wet and blood.
 
 
 
Flirting with cancer
 
In reception, I turn pages of celebrity break up,
relationships seem tricky.
 
I smile bright as ultrasound.
His eyes probe my body, assess for weakness.
Does it hurt him more than it hurts me.
 
In the changing room mirror, I notice a gap between
what I am doing, taking my clothes off
putting his on, open at the back
and what I want.
 
Something inside is expanding will swallow
up this room with its own room.
 
He holds my hand on the bed slips in
a needle. I collapse into a calm place
cutting edge of ecstasy.
 
Then open my eyes. He pats my other hand
with an all clear smile.
I hope he won’t touch me again.
I’m so over him.
 
 
Previously published in Obsessed with Pipework, Issue 46.
 
 
 
Womb
 
The kitchen door ajar
the window a spoon,
the table a book,
on her own in the room
of the night,
she piles up the dishes
one by one.
 
She doesn’t always do
as he would want nowadays.
The children grown, she patches
up her private parts
alone. Yawning, she sits
propped up bright,
like a rag doll lit by the moon.
 
 
Previously published in Hecate, Volume 34.
 
 
 
Memories of rain
 
There was more than enough of it once.
Skin covered like flood
air without boundary
slow overlay of drops not tears.
 
Only traces remain,
silver and black puddles in the underground car park
damp patches on the hall floor where
plastic bags were dumped
smears of wet on a sleeve.
 
The thunder makes no rain now –
bright flashes over the meadows.
We lie together, watching ghosts
measure hands of water.
 
 
Previously published in Raindog, Issue 15.
 
 
 
Nest
 
Is the shock of discovery,
the urge to touch and not to touch
 
to look inside.
It has no weight in the hand.
 
In a cleft between two limbs,
it’s light as an opening to another world.
 
A room deep inside
(metaphor is a kind of shyness)
 
impossible to reach,
it’s like a hand itself
 
private and empty.
Show me your hands.
 
 
Previously published in ARTEMISpoetry, Issue 4.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s