Window Pain

pexels-photo-190589.jpeg

Window Pain
Not a paper bag
Or a terracotta mask
Can erase this face,
Or misplace
The dug-out lines,
The outlines,
the valleys sketched
Like map markings, marking my skin.
Or the thin
Unconventional smile, forced from
A gully of pain
That rises to the tip
Of a pin like nerve

To my lip.
Does this body deserve
To mask these aging bones

With leather skin
Smoothed out,
Like putty on a window pane
With pain.

Or will night,
When dusk coughs
The light from the sky – celebrate,
and wait
until the moon is a silver eyelash
on a violet sheet
and the self –
erased.

©EilidhGClark

I published Window Pain with FTP Magazine on 7th April 2017 – click here to see the original. This is one of my favourite poems to date.

Alone in a Council Flat

 

DSCF3517.JPG

Alone in a Council Flat

The Curtains twitch.
An ambulance passes. 
No siren. No need.
There’s a hush -
A breath 
Held harder than a hiccup
As silence swells
Into the four corners of o’clock.

Through the letterbox
A whiff of kippers;
Of soup and salty socks, sink
Like a stain into embossed 
Net curtains and settle. Settle.
A beat -
A tick of life – 
A wave from a crackling stereo;
and the Corries pinch the space
Before the light-bulbs blink
And press the night like putty-
Into the lips of the garden

Behind the disinfected wheelie bin
And the whittled bird box
Tomorrow waits.
For news and for open blinds,
For fresh pheasant, hung dead
On a hook by the washing line, 
And footsteps – 
And an old man
Carrying a loaf of bread
In a crumpled up carrier bag.


The curtains twitch.

©EilidhGClark

This poem was published by Tell-Tale Magazine on 31st July 2017.