Clay

Part 1

Like Penelope, Queen of Ithaca

we wove a tapestry between our fingers

but when our palms repelled each other

magnetic charge reversed

the thread unravelled

tumbled down, down, down

as smoky memory into the night’s river

A dead weight in the velvet water

it tugs me under

I land on the river’s bed

and all I can do is crawl blindly

as a dark duvet weighs me down

keeps me fumbling through the sediment

My knees and palms knead

the river’s muddy sheets

plait its murky clay into vertebrae

my thumbs scour the earth and it curls like butter

I only emerge

when my fingerprints have laced the length of the river

leaving filigree grooves

for fish to drift through

alone

I gasp into the night’s pale embrace

allow it to burrow beneath my eyelids

my fingernails

between my tresses

I stumble into a forest

lining the river’s edge

Already the river’s pillow weight has

massaged away my fingers’ fretting

the slight spirals I unwittingly drew

are only visible

when the curtains of light billow just so

a smooth thumb inadequately printed

Mud and clay dribble down my hair

leave trails down my spine

The moon sighs

sprinkles bone dust

down through the forest’s collage

It condenses on my skin

powders my eyelashes

I pad over

a trampoline of kindle and flotsam

The soles of my feet

ooze towards its jagged mouth

for a fleeting instant

before the next step

sweeps them away

The midnight performance

atop my mattress

sings its wobbly notes

Part 2

In my dreams I stride ahead of you,

tug your little wrist through throngs of people.

Milk skin and tongue of clay

stumbling, rattling behind me.

You begin to fray,

each pulse of your moth wings

a steady heartbeat

that dusts the air like a golden autumn afternoon.

Part 3

It snowed at your sister’s wedding.

Piles of flakes

created cityscapes on the windowsills

and muffled the sound of champagne bubbles popping.

The fringe of her dress -

soggy from wading through the parking lot -

mopped across the dance floor

leaving snail trails behind her.

I found you

on the balcony

with your eyes raised

towards the heavens in relief.

White beads spiralled down your arms

and pooled at your fingertips.

Your eyes held me.

Together we pinched the edges of your bones into frills

sewed a chain of daisies to make your backbone.

Each flower was a secret

kept between clasped hands

and then stacked like dominoes

A wedding cake sat

in the parentheses of the room.

After the merry ritual of dinner

your sister’s knife found the cake

molded from clay.

It did not spring lightly into her palm

whispering her dreams up at her

as a cake more skilfully baked would.

Instead her hands -

desperate to escape what she had denied her whole life -

dug into the family’s clay offering.

Crumbs tumbled onto silk chiffon

and unravelled the snowy dress in her wake.