This week’s trio of poems is from Helen Fletcher, who read English at Trinity College in Cambridge and has previously had her work published in UK literary magazines and online.
Where is the way?
He points to the sky.
Where is the sky?
He points to his heart.
Letter Written on the Tasman Strait Ferry
Darling, I’m coming back.
I feel sick, looking at the mainland
fill up the horizon.
O Australia, if it could just become a biscuit!
The sand around its coasts – brown sugar,
as it crumbled, it would sweeten me.
Then I could grind my teeth on our small town
and no one there would see me standing, knocking
at my own front door.
This at least, in its white envelope,
at the threshold where you carried me,
will fall at your feet on our hallway floor.
Moët for our maiden voyage shattered on your side.
Cupid is a liar who decides when to be blind,
passionfruits get hulled out, empty hemispheres left behind,
and I’m tied to the wick of a floating votive candle
and you are made of wax and
everything that I could do was not enough
to stop me wanting you,
who lit the touch paper and will rip
my rib muscles till I’m naked flame.
Helen Fletcher lives with her husband and twin daughters in the county of Cumbria, near England’s historic, world-heritage-nominated Lake District. Australia is close to her heart, because her sister lives here.
Readers’ original and unpublished poems up to 30 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to firstname.lastname@example.org. A poetry book will be awarded to each contributor.
Your support will help us continue the important work of InReview in publishing free professional journalism that celebrates, interrogates and amplifies arts and culture in South Australia.Donate Here