Written After Moving ~ Carran
Written After Moving
Carran Waterfield
I
Drifting sea thing
seeing no thing
in nothing thing thing thing g g g g.
Round melting sleep
seeping surging
over under it
around and underneath it t t t t
Breathe and then
fall and then n n n n
sink again n n n n.
Hands held up and hands held outwards.
many finger hands 6 and 7
broken, shrivelled finger hands
all at sixes and sevens.
Dead dry hands
quivering wind hands
through the window hands
long limbed stretching hands.
Leaf maiden leaf green vein hands
flat, cupped palm leaf
fig leaf hands
Garden big plant hands
baby lady hands
fly and thumb Elina launchpad lily hands.
One stunted one or two withered and four crone
round the corner at the bottom of the garden hands.
Now waving not fluttering
and then quiver or not to
say hello to goodbye hands
yes no no poky fingers
at the top tree no bush
two stem bush fly’s
hideout creepy crawly
thing no a dead arm
all dried out arm
leaning on yellow middle
life hand.
II
Shaking the breath life out
Reaching the impossible
To fly to be on the ceiling
To defy gravity and be
Upside downside in the
Air as if the floor is
The ceiling. Not to
collapse but always on
tiptoe now higher now
higher. I’m shaking the
breath out of myself.
A cotton pillow in Scandinavia
A white bed in Scandinavia
A sunshine kiss in
Scandinavia where they
Sleep in the roof and
Their roof boards are our
floorboards and their
ceilings are our chairs.
III
In the hand is the knuckle
In the knuckle is a knot
In the knot is a twisting
In the twisting is the spot
Where the crick is
And the crockery breaking the window
Pane to get out.
So you knock at the window
Very faintly with your hand
In fists of knuckles dusting time away
All gone away away
She holds the twists of air in her fingers
And her knuckles weaving flowers
For the fig tree
As if her weaving can work a miracle
Like the girl in Rumpelstiltskin
Up all night to make a spell
Then it’s morning
And she is old now
And her skin a leather fan hand
Hanging upside in her last deep yawning growl
Carran Waterfield
I
Drifting sea thing
seeing no thing
in nothing thing thing thing g g g g.
Round melting sleep
seeping surging
over under it
around and underneath it t t t t
Breathe and then
fall and then n n n n
sink again n n n n.
Hands held up and hands held outwards.
many finger hands 6 and 7
broken, shrivelled finger hands
all at sixes and sevens.
Dead dry hands
quivering wind hands
through the window hands
long limbed stretching hands.
Leaf maiden leaf green vein hands
flat, cupped palm leaf
fig leaf hands
Garden big plant hands
baby lady hands
fly and thumb Elina launchpad lily hands.
One stunted one or two withered and four crone
round the corner at the bottom of the garden hands.
Now waving not fluttering
and then quiver or not to
say hello to goodbye hands
yes no no poky fingers
at the top tree no bush
two stem bush fly’s
hideout creepy crawly
thing no a dead arm
all dried out arm
leaning on yellow middle
life hand.
II
Shaking the breath life out
Reaching the impossible
To fly to be on the ceiling
To defy gravity and be
Upside downside in the
Air as if the floor is
The ceiling. Not to
collapse but always on
tiptoe now higher now
higher. I’m shaking the
breath out of myself.
A cotton pillow in Scandinavia
A white bed in Scandinavia
A sunshine kiss in
Scandinavia where they
Sleep in the roof and
Their roof boards are our
floorboards and their
ceilings are our chairs.
III
In the hand is the knuckle
In the knuckle is a knot
In the knot is a twisting
In the twisting is the spot
Where the crick is
And the crockery breaking the window
Pane to get out.
So you knock at the window
Very faintly with your hand
In fists of knuckles dusting time away
All gone away away
She holds the twists of air in her fingers
And her knuckles weaving flowers
For the fig tree
As if her weaving can work a miracle
Like the girl in Rumpelstiltskin
Up all night to make a spell
Then it’s morning
And she is old now
And her skin a leather fan hand
Hanging upside in her last deep yawning growl