The red-sparrow instinct of the phoenix
(For the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)
The wild can be savage. Forgive me.
Forgive me. It is my lack of memory.
The night. The night. Ghosts falling
From the attic of my soul. Your mouth.
Your eyes. You’re near and that is all
That matters. Linger. Linger. Frame
The depths of your heart. Sacrifice your
Heart in your twenties. Give up those
Ghosts but only if you want to. Only
If you dare. Look at this verse. Read
This and weep or laugh because this
Is cupid-country. I only knew of liberty
When you left you see. There was no
Other way to print the face of God on the grass that
Just grows and birds that just fly away. A woman
Loved is changed. I’m in the deep end
Of the swimming pool again. A mermaid
Numb to the bone with desire and winter-
Mischief. I’m a hungry and thirsty traveler
With my head in the kingdom of clouds.
A tangled mermaid. Half-fish. Half-bone.
Half-flesh not tasting of smoke or plume.
I have few excellent friends that I write to.
It is the writing that is the great unknown. The song.
The pizza is cold but I eat it anyway.
Even depressed I would pray. Meditate.
Sit in silence for hours on end in my
Bedroom, and the wound would become
A spell. The hospital bed would become
The source of that spell. I was sad then happy
Then sad again but all this time I could
Still write. I wrote for my Father who art
In heaven and my biological father. I
Wrote for my brother, and his son. My
Mother and my sister. Your poetry is
Made of concrete though. You’re priest,
And curator. Prophet and husband. Father
And poet. You’re brilliant with words, Joop
Bersee. I’m writing this for you. To you. Eating this
Cold pizza was as depressing as the day.
Near the city of Johannesburg there’s a
Darkness there that’s the friend of sinners.
- Abigail George 2018
Abigail's book, "All About My Mother", is available for free download from Ovi Magazine's online bookstore.
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