Menagerie à trois
1. Using a sling harness, remove the animal carefully.
Blindfold this majestic creature and drive away.
Prepare a large room, the size of a small field.
2. The dolphin will not last a week living in the bath;
it does not enjoy swimming. The otter is happier in
the chest freezer. The otter’s face is on a mask I wear.
3. On the floor, paint the stars, each a different colour.
Play soft sounds and whale music into the room.
When the giraffe awakens it will be confused.
Illustrations courtesy of Oliver Meehan.
Harriet Saunders
The Croft in July.
Joni’s voice ripples out
joining dancing dandelion seeds.
Slugs and snails rest in the dark damp belly
of a silver trailed watering-can.
Bare patches mark old cat nests
amongst the wild strawberries.
Noughts and crosses graffiti the sky,
ants wonder over toast crumbs,
Passionflowers cling to the side of the house,
plating thick brows over the windows.
Inside, dog eared crumpled faces,
Barbados, the Black Forest and palm crosses
cover cupboards.
The driveway is a festival of fluttering colour,
hoards of butterflies indulge in sweet apple pulp.
The porch fills with a warm mist of familiar smelling fabric softener,
condensation drips and licks empty milk bottles.
An hourly whistle,
mechanical clicking,
and folds of white smoke
rise over the neighbouring terracotta tiles of the school roof.
Joni’s voice ripples out
joining dancing dandelion seeds.
Slugs and snails rest in the dark damp belly
of a silver trailed watering-can.
Bare patches mark old cat nests
amongst the wild strawberries.
Noughts and crosses graffiti the sky,
ants wonder over toast crumbs,
Passionflowers cling to the side of the house,
plating thick brows over the windows.
Inside, dog eared crumpled faces,
Barbados, the Black Forest and palm crosses
cover cupboards.
The driveway is a festival of fluttering colour,
hoards of butterflies indulge in sweet apple pulp.
The porch fills with a warm mist of familiar smelling fabric softener,
condensation drips and licks empty milk bottles.
An hourly whistle,
mechanical clicking,
and folds of white smoke
rise over the neighbouring terracotta tiles of the school roof.
Lauren Witts
Table.
You always stand very straight. And I think that is
why you and I have lasted so long. You hold my
sewing machine, under the light, or closer to the
window, when I chose to be that close. You have
another admirer, but you have never gone. So
obviously there is something here for you too, and I
give you your own space, up next to the wall.
You always stand very straight. And I think that is
why you and I have lasted so long. You hold my
sewing machine, under the light, or closer to the
window, when I chose to be that close. You have
another admirer, but you have never gone. So
obviously there is something here for you too, and I
give you your own space, up next to the wall.
Patrick Millar
Kami(1) no tanka
It is not enough
To take up a brush and hope
For the best, thinking
I may erase as I please.
This world is not of paper.
(1) Paper, or alternatively, God or divinity.
It is not enough
To take up a brush and hope
For the best, thinking
I may erase as I please.
This world is not of paper.
(1) Paper, or alternatively, God or divinity.
Aquila Dunford Wood
Adulterer.
She, he, I, an archaic triad.
Sang of white chalk
purity in song rotting at the phone, your call
and shaping existence
and I
fall a little deeper into sand with bad blood on my hands
and we
talk over the subject with empty listening
watching a forgiving twitch of your leg your way
I do think ill of you
in time the lie will ferment
if kept
you were unkept when the door stood open
under mist
and a week or two past
and I cannot trust my own words
thick
buttered to my teeth
I want to lick them clean
She, he, I, an archaic triad.
Sang of white chalk
purity in song rotting at the phone, your call
and shaping existence
and I
fall a little deeper into sand with bad blood on my hands
and we
talk over the subject with empty listening
watching a forgiving twitch of your leg your way
I do think ill of you
in time the lie will ferment
if kept
you were unkept when the door stood open
under mist
and a week or two past
and I cannot trust my own words
thick
buttered to my teeth
I want to lick them clean
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