Monday, 4 May 2015

3. Brim

the jam jars are all full
of water & soil & glitter & ink
she keeps knocking them over
she’s a sucker for stains

the ink smells like cardamon
burnt swatches of leather
kimono silk turned yellow
armpits stained by the sun

the girl is full to the brim
and trying to walk without
stottering or stumbling
trying not to spill a drop

still she says yes to every
invitation be they gilt-edged
or soot-stained or blank
she climbs on every boxcar

ending a thousand miles
from the station and lunchless
ending and beginning without
tickets or shoe-soles

she’s a terrible waitress
the girl spilled red wine
on every ivory lapel that
cuffed her cheek and winked

I’m sorry she says I didn’t
mean to ruin your best suit
my mother warned me I’m clumsy
but the warning didn’t work

now the jam jars are all empty
the floor is sodden and she
lolls in a puddle with shut eyes
dreaming of white tents and
soaking the hem of her gown

No comments:

Post a Comment