Amy Key: Six Poems

  
 
 
 
Amy Key’s pamphlet Instead of Stars is published by Tall Lighthouse. Her work has been published in magazines and various anthologies, most recently in Birdbook (Sidekick Books) and Clinic II (Clinic). She co-hosts The Shuffle reading series at London’s Poetry Café. She enjoys collecting clutter.
  
 
 
 
*
  
 
 
 
Capsize
 
 
I wanted to go to the bottom of the sea
in the drop-net we bought to catch edible
crabs. I had thoughts like the sea bed in soft,
but soft like a bed, so you’re not afraid,
that a shoal of black and white fish
– waitresses – will swim around me
and think me strange. But then I had
other thoughts like how might I breathe
and will the net line break? Then the net
became a pod and I had to wear a mask
but then the sea bed wasn’t soft and all the fish swam away.
 
 
 
 
‘Capsize’ is from a series of poems based on the film
Where The Wild Things Are.
 
 
 
 
*
  
 
 
 
Poem to Chelsey
 
 
He made me cry like a girl denied pink bunting
          Left my crockery lustrous with butter
          Watched my school-flirt cartwheels
          Ate the heads of nasturtiums
          Said ‘ruin yourself with these, honey’
          Let his doggy off the leash
          Sang bawdy at the cream tea
          Pushed me over in the daisies
          Mistook my toenails for diamantes
          Stuck his tongue into the Swiss cheese
          Put his linen in the chiller
          Knotted the leash to my ankle
          Wrote I’m sorry in white petals
          Poured cheap brandy on the bite marks
          Had a thing for leatherette
          Rubbed against the hydrant
          Allowed the dog to chew the leash
          Cheerled dances in the bathtub
          Shot the Pepsi off the ledge
He liked me to wear the gold anklet
          Milked it for all he was worth.
 
 
 

‘Poem to Chelsey’ was commissioned for a tribute to
Chelsey Minnis.
 
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
 
His is a Mystery of Cooling Towers
 
 
          demolitions and algae.
Oh suitor, thunder me
          your elegant curse. Mobbed,
I will magic us to Siberian igloos
          where lamps bleed a glow
into our symmetrical clinch.
          Or a late shadowed terrace –
cool tumbles of liquor, a hand-painted parasol –
          balmy with glossy austerity.
And though I will admit I was a squeeze
          more drunk than you (given my rabble
of stunted views), I hold dear these inventions;
          last night, after the third time
I noted my wine glass wanting, leaning close
          and whispering my cheek
with mushroom-gill lashes, you murmured
          You, are a very nice girl. 
 
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
 
The Susceptible Heart
 
 
Nothing to be done about the sky, its early fall.
You give me match-strike, candelabra, chandelier.
This year, autumn doesn’t matter.
                                        If lit by dawn,
my mind will clamour to recall how our kiss left off,
how the evening’s talk – steeped in dramatics – set off
that wordless flourish. But tonight pours
into your absence. Take this half of ale,
sipped with one eye on your tastes and just now
my fringe swept away with your imagined hand.
Our romance, tracked by a fling of mill-town
horns, an elementary fiction of sweethearts.
  
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
 
With You
 
 
     for Rebecca Key
 
 
The fish gurgle in their outer space light –
I ask “pass me the blanket” and the wineglass
residues are violet and look back at us, like pupils.
 
To-do lists cascade from the fridge.
Your to-do lists are often niche catalogue orders.
We both eat showy pralines. Alternately, you eat
                                                       the lychees.
 
When you’re distracted I like to hide my finger
in the core of your best ringlet. Upstairs the bath
lies empty and I can’t but think bath oils and towelling.
 
I harvest garden moss and set it on the floorboards.
The garden is flung with a camouflage of twilights.
We turn the lights down and sit on the moss bed,
 
compare photos of our favourite light fittings.
If you do me a pedicure, I’ll do you a manicure.
Your eating of the lychees suggests the extent
 
of your gentleness. My favourite: Hotel Kiev;
yours, in this living room. I choose to breathe
in the space between your breaths.
 
We’ve declined all other atmospheres:
the room turns aquarium. We sit back,
tune into deep-sea light shows.
 
Your eyes fill in with yet more green. Once
you sat by my bed until you knew I was dreaming.
 
 
 
 
*
 
 
 
 
Tight Dress
 
 
I’m in the tight dress. The one that prevents dignified sitting.
The tight dress suggests I’m prepared to be undressed.
Do my thighs flash through the seams?
I try to remember if the bed is made, or unmade.
The wind is wrapping up the sound of our kissing.
I wonder should I undress first or should you undress first.
I’m not sure I can take off the dress in a way that looks good.
I consider if I should save up sex until morning.
We are far gone and I’m better at kissing when sober.
I find that your earlobes provide the current fascination.
On my bedside table are three glasses of water
                                          and my favourite love letter.
I try to untie your shoes in a way that is appalling.
 
 
 
 
 
‘His is a Mystery of Cooling Towers’, ‘The Susceptible Heart’,
‘With You’ and ‘Tight Dress’ are published in Instead of Stars
(Tall Lighthouse, 2009).
 
Order Instead of Stars.
 
Read more of Amy’s poetry.
 
Read Amy’s article ‘How to Put On a Poetry Gig’ at Young Poets Network.
 
 
 
 
*

7 thoughts on “Amy Key: Six Poems

  1. Sam

    yes yes – this is all very well … but when am I going to photograph you reading!!!

    (I love them all )

  2. Pingback: Amy Key | B O D Y

  3. Pingback: Amy Key | B O D Y

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