Sunday, February 13, 2011

New Poetry by Tricia Dearborn







 
Night vision

I take off the clarity of the world
and place it on my bedside table.

No use for it with my lids pressed
neatly together against the dark.

Slowly my brainwaves settle
into delta rhythm. Old lovers

breathe into my ear, or leave me
yet again. I fly. Breathe underwater.

Watch tornados gather. Waking, I fill
the kettle, translate the night’s happenings

into ink. The morning news
from the land the sleeping see.

- Tricia Dearborn 2011



At the laundromat on rue St Florent

My tired reflected face is framed
by the curving leap

of my jeans ­—
always the last to relinquish

the final skerricks of damp,
not dry till the rivets

will singe your skin.
I watch as the jeans submit

with seeming grace, or joy,
tumbling to rest, then leaning back

legs spread as they’re lifted and tossed
across in streaming freefall.

Like the fearless girl lining up again
for the wildest ride.

Though later, when the denim
flattens momentarily

to the glass, it’s more like
someone get me out of here.


- Tricia Dearborn 2011




The answer
If you want to take your mind off your troubles, create a god. It’s easy.
Toss back a few too many drinks. The Hangover God demands greasy chips and egg and bacon rolls; asks that you tend the altar of your headache, surrender to a queasy inability to come to grips with the world. 
Pick a fight with a loved one. The God of Relationship Dramas encourages outbursts and recriminations. Practise door-slamming and seething silence. Make offerings of blame and blazing rows.
Or step onto the God of Perfection’s hamster-wheel. Forget the roses, forget the sunsets: focus on getting it right; being first; being best. For penance, each error a tiny whip.
The Caffeine God will smite you if you haven’t performed the holy rites by nine. Enjoy the temporary bliss. Be warned: this god will mess with your nerves if you dare to leave the fold.
The God of Thinness says less of you is always better; asks that you stand side-on in front of mirrors, sucking in your stomach; do secret, impromptu skin-fold tests on belly, upper arms and thighs.
Or bow to a God of Mercy and Compassion who’ll throw you in hell if you cross the line. Forgo your sensual animal nature; spend your precious human hours striving not to sin.
To take your mind off your troubles, create a god. Forget you created it. 

- Tricia Dearborn 2011
 
Tricia Dearborn is an award-winning poet and short-story writer whose work has appeared in literary journals and anthologies in Australia, the UK, the US and India. Her poem sequence ‘The Ringing World’ was joint winner of the 2008 Poets Union Poetry Prize, and her poem ‘Come In, Lie Down’ appeared in The Best Australian Poetry 2008. Her first collection was Frankenstein’s Bathtub (Interactive Press, 2001). In 2009 she received a Developing Writers grant from the Australia Council for the Arts. She is currently completing her second collection.

3 comments:

Poetry of the Day said...

i love this

Poetry <3

Must Love Cheese said...

Those gods are divine! I love this too.

Benjamin said...

Superbia!