1. I so admire Medusa
I would so willingly hack
my long blonde strands —
swap them for living coils
of snakes in their stead.
Imagine the hissing halo.
Imagine the hell-bent nest,
the gazes
I could avert and warp.
Imagine my stoicism
fixed beneath the wrath
of red kinetic tongues
limblessly
anchored down,
reliant upon my skull.
Imagine my clear path
as I shop aisles at Coles,
as I walk past construction
sites to silence.
My peace.
My long panorama.
2. Miracle
The eyeless tabby lives in the vet clinic. Warming the metallic surfaces and white benchtops, she layers the antiseptic smell with her own. There aren’t many who would love a blind cat.
But the vets and nurses do. And she is gracious, haughty, well aware of her charms — and inured to frequent doses of affection.
New on the job, I watch her bat a feather on a string. Baffled, I diagnose a miracle unravelling. I re-examine her broad face with its deep empty sockets. [They certainly take getting used to.] If she were a pirate, she would wear two eye patches. A jazz musician or another sort of human — I’m sure she would sport dark glasses. But she. I stare straight into the dark recesses of skull, into gravelly empty caves. I cannot help but ask how the eyeless cat could possibly play that game? Microphthalmia, they tell me. She has some residual optical nerve endings, remnants — The vet nurses are impatient. I am calm. She has recovered the contours and shadows of her narrow world. I cannot see what she can see. She can see what I cannot. How much insight[less][ness] could she heal in me?
3. The hawk and the tripper
I told him I liked tattoos
and he showed me the hawk
spread-eagled across his chest
in thick oceans of bluest ink
which led me to contemplate
otherness — like wolves
and dogs and open ground
because I love to tramp
along clifftops and view
the wildest blue below
beyond and above us all
and spumes of other colours
that I see and seek to wear
depending on my mood my time
and what isn’t in the washing pile
4. Dragons don't smoke
I draw a cruel lungful of fresh air. Let go.
A whoooooooooshh sounds. With scales iridescent
I unlatch my great jaws. This time words pour forth
and bounce between cliff walls — my meaning is hot,
unwavering — and still. I watch as its glowing end
smoulders and shrinks. The sudden clarity —
no cigarette lasts forever. As barriers go, too flimsy
to install between fears and their sources. As far as
procrastination — when craving eons, mere minutes
spill madly as that most notorious milk. I could soon
be cramped again — in that dank lair, behind boulders.
In airlessness. So, after packets, entire cartons smoked
to ash, I put this out half smoked, and grind it under
a yellowing claw. I exhale like the dragon I’ve always
wanted to love — purple plumes shoot from my mouth
to rival the stratosphere. I watch as my dense breaths
mingle with storm clouds. I watch until smoke
and vapour merge. I watch until there’s no distinction
between that of my lungs, and that of the sky.
Take me for tame
by Shoshanna Rockman
Launching on Oct. 12
Purchase here