Poem 482

There’s something satisfying about making this poem speak for the whole year … what even happened in 1987 anyhow? … perhaps this woman has been glimpsed in earlier poems (eg. Poem 5 and Poem 55) … maybe this woman is really me and it’s about a whole day of gloaming … there’s something very evocative for me in an afternoon of thunder …

( I like the image of raindrops on washing and concrete as grey silk spots, the description of washing on the line as a crying flying child … the way you think she’s left the house when she hasn’t … and the hallucinogenic metaphor of driving off a cliff for falling into bed … assonance of ambulance/attending/accident … and the steady frenzy of a Wellington tree in the rising wind … )

1987

An afternoon of thunder
       grey silk spots
                on blouses
she would tidy the clouds from the sky
calm the neighbour's washing
            like a lost crying
            flying child
she would lug the day like a body
down the hall
                            hang it on the hook
in the vacuum cleaner cupboard

on the corner between morning and afternoon
              a wounded slice of quiche
              tomato sauce like a red
              smashed thumb
she takes the car out skittish in the wet
                                            and drives off a cliff
into her bed pulling the bow at her throat
like blood sailing out
       and down her
a last emergency rip cord

she looks up and sees
                                                failing
                                                falling
ambulance clouds attending the accident sky
rain wind
steady frenzy of a tree
fighting off night