Amy Key & Rebecca Perry

 

It turned red

 

I

Perhaps because of their holy associations moths in wardrobes bloom twice
in a season.
Wings of madonna, the smell of lavender, a particular phase of the moon
stuffed into other hands.
Flowers are said to keep away ghosts in the garden… uprooting could lead to
heavy drinking,
a fleshy plant. Disastrous. To dream of being barked at by strange dogs, to
dream of a juniper tree.
Place a leek amongst the knives… A straying lover. A boggart. Feet burn.
Walk backwards into the garden… All would be well while the trees lived.

II

Perhaps because of their holy associations moths in wardrobes bloom twice
in a season.
(Insomniac limbed, I watched moths bloom; the half-dark sense, ceremonial perfume)
Wings of madonna, the smell of lavender, a particular phase of the moon
stuffed into other hands.
(I wore a madonna-blue gown at night; on the fifth, my gown turned moon white)
Flowers are said to keep away ghosts in the garden… uprooting could lead to
heavy drinking,
a fleshy plant. Disastrous.
(My desire is deterred, a garden good at keeping out its ghosts; I spilled wine across the
threshold, allowed myself be diagnosed)
To dream of being barked at by strange dogs, to dream of a juniper tree.
(The bark of my lonely terrors, I accept they will not change; but the comforts of my
childhood, I now perceive as strange)
Place a leek amongst the knives… A straying lover. A boggart. Feet burn.
(I dreamed I planted a knife amongst the leeks; in my dream this foretold I’d live a week)
Walk backwards into the garden… All would be well while the trees lived.

III

Insomniac limbed, I watched moths bloom; the half-dark sense,
ceremonial perfume
(smell of treacle, willow and wet grey stone)
I wore a madonna-blue gown at night; on the fifth, my gown turned
moon white
(colour of pebbles, fossils and teeth)
My desire is deterred, a garden good at keeping out its ghosts;
(headless women, dripping in jewels)
I spilled wine across the threshold, allowed myself be diagnosed.
(anxious, wired, fixated on endings)
The bark of my lonely terrors, I accept they will not change;
(though the animal sometimes appears to sleep)
but the comforts of my childhood, I now perceive as strange.
(mist on a window, smell of treacle)
I dreamed I planted a knife amongst the leeks;
(a sort of purple-green, very healthy)
in my dream this foretold I’d live a week.
(six days since, I wake to harvest)

 


Rebecca Perry’s first poetry collection, Beauty/Beauty (Bloodaxe Books, 2015), was shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize and won the Michael Murphy Memorial Prize. She has two pamphlets: cleanliness of rooms and walls (If A Leaf Falls Press, 2017) and insect & lilac (co-authored with Amy Key, 2019). Her pamphlet, beaches, is due from Offord Road Books in July 2019.

Amy Key’s second collection Isn’t Forever (Bloodaxe Books, 2018) was a Poetry Book Society Wild Card choice. Her latest pamphlet, insect & lilac, was co-authored with Rebecca Perry, 2019, and is the result of a joint residency at Halsway Manor (the National Centre for Folk Arts). She has published poetry, interviews and essays in Poetry, Granta, The White Review, Prac Crit, The Poetry Review, and elsewhere.


Continue to Jay G. Ying’s ‘The Drought’ & ‘Forwarding’ >>

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