J E S S I E

A O I F E

selected works

Taxidermy Vision

 

I keep catching visions from the shadows

Limbs and tall top hats

Someone is skulking 

Imagining that they are someone else 

While the smoke rises from chimney tops

And TV boxes chatter 

 

Cracks re-appear on the pavement 

And light the world from below

The rain falls with a vengeance 

To wash away the soot

 

This ladder he climbs starts from nowhere and ends nowhere else

He crushes a snail and his victory mocks the earth

 

The pavement cracks widen

The old town drops beneath my feet

And I fall into the dream 

It is real

The mechanical third dimension swirls into the miraculous fourth 

In truth as in dreams

It is bright and it hurts my eyes

 

There is a coin on the floor 

Light, cold and clean

To my left, there are bagpipes

The archaic swan song 

And I sway 

 

He falls down beside me but he is lost

The pigeons swarm and peck at his eyes 

He is not welcome 

In the Realm of Importance

Where bleached angels sing 

About the didactic end,

The taxidermy vision. 

Untitled

 

This coffee is so strong 

You could trod a mouse in 

Sat by the edge of the table 

Untouched and cold

 

The milk has separated and curdled

It has been there longer than I 

It is out of place 

Alone amongst the conversation

 

It does not belong there

It was a mistake

Collateral damage 

From someone's near-missed train 

No More Bitter Tears, we look into the future. 

 

It's not long now until time stretches itself out for me and asks me to fill it. And I will fill it with African sunsets and black coffee, dark-eyed strangers and blue-eyed babies. I'll hold my mother's hand until I can't anymore and I will watch my father take to aging gracefully while I do my best to repay my debt. I will fill it with homemade bread and jam, fresh soup, and roasted lamb. Letters from abroad and postcards from nearby. My mornings will be yellow and brisk, my evenings purple and drunk. My afternoons will take many shapes, I'm sure, but I hope to eat lots of fruit. One day my youth will be stories and the smell of cigarettes will make me yearn for it. But then I will look to my right and see my life in the eyes of the one who helped me build it. We'll look from the dusty shelf of relics foraged from the four corners of our world to the fridge that leans to one side from the weight of magnets collected too. Little feet will patter in the kitchen and we will be reminded that life is circular and what once was can't always stay as what is. And then we will start to notice the stamps on our skin, the forgotten scars and countless freckles, aching knees and thinner hair. But eyes that have grown brighter with what we have seen. 

C O N T A C T

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