Traveller’s Stones

 

Now I am a lake,

opaque in depth and silence

the ground unreachable

toes dip in my legends

and recoil at the truth of my temperature.

 

This mountain side yawns a vast call

echoing against valleys

carved deep into time and

only the brave venture here,

 

or those with desires

of poetry and madness.

The romance of a wandering bard

bubbles beneath my stones.

 

Now I am a lake

lonely, except for the neoprene invaders,

heart rates double in my darkness

as quick as mice-

 

they swallow me and spit me back into myself

I savour their strokes

arms aching against my pebbled shore

I am held,

until my silt runs through their fingers

and my wetness evaporates on skin.

 

 

 

The Radius Of My Hurt

 

I can only leave clues:

 

a treasure hunt

for a cunt

 

because no one that I love

needs to see this much blood

and there will be

 

tonight, again

and then,

 

and then

the pressure, the din

the blade cuts right in

speaking the language of horror

 

tomorrow, the dull thud,

of hot, pulsing regret

 

and yet it works

in a world where there aren’t enough words

 

deeds need to bleed;

my silence screams in your face,

displaced

 

the frustration you feel,

the concern on your brow,

see me now,

 

now

the hairs retreat,

smoke tinged nostrils flare and recoil

as the embers descend

 

the forearm forgives

another burn, ash cascades amidst the wreckage

of my sinew, flesh, skin framed ulna

 

the radius of my hurt

defies Mathematics

and English just isn’t the stretch

 

so for now,

the language of the landscape altered

my body is not the temple

just a sacrifice.

 

 

 

 

Hippocamping

 

I remember when my heart was a hand grenade,

primed and ready for life, dischargeable in inappropriate places

I remember when cherry blossom fell so thick

I could roll around in it, like a sheet of confetti covering the dirt beneath

I remember the biting cold and the deep snow of legends

mittens wet from building men and wiped noses

I remember 5am starts and the smell of dripping

using toast to build bridges

I remember tree stumps and ants

floods and barricades, nature’s conversation

I remember looking down at my own knocked out teeth

rune stones in the soil

I remember running,

panting, chest exploding

to get away from remembering

 

 

 

 

 

Anneghem Wall bio photo
Anneghem Wall is, amongst other things, a researcher and a therapist and a mental health trainer – when she grows up, she would like to be a writer and less scared of the sea.

 

 

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