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Red
He said my chi was unbalanced
Suggested I wear a red linen shawl
Around my waist - to keep my liver warm
Yoda of the herb world
Laughed at my expression
Admitted it sounded odd
But red always means heat, he explained
So I wore it, next to my kidneys
Like the scarlet woman
Wrapped in reminders of lust
I wore it for my gall bladder
For all hope of redemption
Then he heated me with Bamboo & Hoelen
Spiced me with Cinnamon
Peppered me with Peony
Seasoned so, he grilled me lightly
For three years, turning every quarter
Until my mouth grew apples
My skin sprouted olives
Peppers hung where my breasts had been.
Then he wrapped me in vine leaves
And buried me on the shore.
Warmed by the earth I waited - centuries
Until, I was born from my sand womb
Wriggling out in a gush of warm sea water
Naked but for the birthmark
A ring of red around my middle
God Child - Still Birth
for Louie Joseph Collins
I am your Godmother
And yet when you were born
I didn't want to hold you, or touch you
I couldn't see past those plastic flowers
They'd wrapped your tiny peeling fingers round
Or the image of you being transported
From the labour ward in the blanket covered Moses basket
Or the room with the holy pictures and the low-watt lamp
Where you waited for our introduction
I was blinded by your frowning forehead
Your skin dark from waiting to be born
Hold him, hold him, pick him up and hold him
I took pictures, closed my eyes through the lens
Looked at the small table lamp, the crochet blanket, the floor
I watched your Nana though, my sister
Take away the plastic flowers; scoop you gently into her arms
And talk to you, talk to you
My darling little boy
I'm your Nana and I've waited a long time to meet you
It's okay my darling, you're safe now, nothing can harm you
And without warning you were there, in my arms
Surprised by the weight of you, the feel of you
I held you to my breast and closed my eyes
And I met you I met you
No words can explain that meeting
But I met you I met you
Now, when I am quiet, alone, painting
You pull the kitchen chair to the table
Kneel up to get a better view
Your curls wiry and unruly
Bounce with your rhythm
As your small fingertips - dip in the paint
Often leaving their mark at the edge of my canvas
Destiny
A blackbird flies home
His beak full of chips
As if he'd been to the takeaway
Rushing home to feed his family
I too feel like my mouth is full
Threatening to spill over
Falling from the sky on people's heads
Pouring from my lips - streams
Not sentences or logic
Just angry frustrated feathers
Crowd my mouth
Dry tickle my throat
Coughing out
Small black filaments
Blocking out the light
Like millions of tiny blackbirds
Fluttering round my head.
Then twigs for nest building
Horse hair for binding,
Speckled eggs bubble forth
Until I remember my role
- Catching a shadow against sky
I follow the blackbird home
To steal his family
Blue Sirocco
(Lanzarote)
Sirocco sand clouds
Eat the sky
Smother the sun
Leave the lava beneath my feet
Cold like your hand
Pressed to the side of my face
Your lips moving slowly round
The words, round this body
Lost in the Atlantic
Erupting from restless plates
Deep deep beneath your
Heart beat - touches mine
The taste of salt
Lust mingled with Ambre Solaire
Goose bumps rising like mountains
From a smooth horizon
One slow bead of sweat
Roller-coasts over goose hills
Between breasts
A tantalising finger
Leading the storm onwards
All Poems © Karen O'Connor 2005 - No works can be redistrubted for public use without prior consent from the author
| about the book | [ excerpts from the book ] |
