Saturday 23/01/2021
Big Girl staring at the wing
won't fall.
"Bumps in the road," the Venusian
attendant 'suedes. Big Girl's s-
wayed. Dad thinks of falling
hard. The carnage
he envisions—Big Girl won't
near that mental prison. The Venusian
knows Dad's shaking hands release
the weight of daily en-
dangerment. Big Girl looks
to clouds below, and
space above; to shaking ev-
errything. Shook, she asks her
dad, look?" and makes her eyes
shake, then
takes his hands. "Bumps in the road,"
she feathers (pomp-
ostorously, venusi-
unbecomingly),
and fallinn-
-ng
from his crow's nest, dropping
watch,
looking after then... "ver-
rry ff-
unny. Thank
y-
ou my good
big brave
cc-
llever girl," he
Gives.
OK, Moon
I see it now; this world that lays low
in forced brightness. We walked
in your light over moor, cows' chorus
scoring and shushing our chatter;
low and shuffling shadows.
I couldn't lie, and cried then. I was
comforted. You show me our
collections; razor shells, and bone-
reachingly bright climbs over
Spanish hay, along foot-wide ledges,
sweeping swallows, half a long day's
hope, and—OK, Dad?
This here doesn't move like seaweed…
It is animal/animals, and its body
lives in rock, in darkness; its
long branched limb protruding.
OK, Moon
I see it now; night is night.
You're thin. You'll soon be new. Little
light from that shy world
will be left with me.
I await illumination;
your coming fullness.
