Painted from the impression travelling over Auckland Harbour Bridge left on me: after I went to see Emily Perkins and Dylan Horrocks present their graphic conversation "All Hail Ellie". I think the real bridge is much bigger.
First up, huge thanks to Vanessa Gebbie and Zoe King for all their help and advice and for housing my story "Sticking the Needle In", and poem "Words With Charlie", in Tom's Voice. I'm extremely grateful. Vanessa is the author of Words from a Glass Bubble, a collection of very touching stories, as well as Storm Warning, which I'm looking forward to reading (more links on the side bar).
It's been a stressful few weeks: my husband was told his company's Auckland office was closing at the end of November. The options were: move to Wellington or get another job. Now his office is moving down the road and there's a reprieve until April. I've been feeling unsettled.
I was going to post a poem about writing a poem but Dick's posted one which cannot be rivalled. Hats off to you, Dick. So you've got a repeat (no pun intended). I posted this a while ago, then removed it, and now I'm posting it again. I've written a few poems about stuttering. My husband stutters. It's hard to argue with someone when you have to wait for them to insult you. Laughter replaces intended crimes of passion. He doesn't stutter with our toddler, nor with animals (you wouldn't catch me talking to the animals). Thanks to Donna and Thomas who spotted and left lovely comments on this the first time around. And apologies to Lori whom I confused at the time.
Aubade to Balbettare
Refused your words, gum in a torn pocket,
they are caught within the fabric of your
tongue. Confidence droops like a shamed face, set
to counter exasperation. Breathe. More
lowered, your lids self shield. Self-healed you start
again, and, and, and conversation stalls
till late at night, when all but one dear heart
can be heard, you speak into me. Crystals
hang sparkling about my ears: sentences,
uninterrupted, unfinished by choice;
utterances full-stopped by our senses.
Bodily parenthesis given voice
to mock Aurora before she scatters
your eyes with her curse of fettered letters.