Heimweh

Photo: Claire Doble

the tongue is more sensitive than fingers

teeth shift and move

into more conventional spaces

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity?

on a perfect yellow morning

kookaburras outside my window

laugh at me for leaving

and I ache not to go

heimweih

feels like family

sunwarm and delightful

sense of

remembered yearning

from living overseas

all those years

crammed into my niche

missing Switzerland

where I could be anyone

recently

a stranger reassured me

I’m better now

content here

in another heartplace

fitting almost perfectly

conventional

with a kink

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity

 

 

tide / goodbye

you couldn’t invent the tide

or the blood in my eye

imagine creating

a land

where waves

rushed in

once a day

then left

sand

like the bare spot on your chin

I see from one side

and wonder if anyone

else has spied

do you feel that

something

between us,

the sea and the sky?

or are the pebbles in my mind

worn too smooth by

tumbling

endless thoughts

washing nigh

turning over and over and

the way they

swell and subside

not even a hangnail

to catch certainty

just a shallow

goodbye

Summer

her first album

I was back from

Switzerland

calling Melbourne

quite often

listening

catching

the train

on up the coast

on Fridays

 

randomly

I fell

in a moment

unexpected

but so vintage-sweet

 

my cardigan

under the bed

where

your handcuffs

held my grief

that weekend

(he died)

 

and now there’s

a new album

it repeats on

and on and on

her voice

a yearning

for another

happening

 

do I welcome

love now?

summer’s here

again, again, again

 

 

Soundcloud recording of this poem: https://on.soundcloud.com/65nRL

 

Photo: Claire Doble

the same things

In another amusing

twist of fate

or destiny

or conditioning

I’ve bought the same

kitchen table

as my parents

to go with

matching knifes

and our bread tin

a set of sheets

so many things

it’s dirty on

the underside

with old wine

when I

thought I was

so clean

dust in

the bathroom

like mum’s

I guess it is

conditioning

 

Photo by Paco S on Unsplash

Boz the dog

sometimes think

I am the person

who doesn’t notice

other people

don’t get along

because they see me

lollop up

to their

relationship

like an enthusiastic

puppy

so they smile

pretend

because they

don’t want

to hurt my

feelings or

destroy

a loyal naivety

of course

might just be

overthinking

and

egotising

after all

would anyone

change their behaviour

for me?

 

Photo by Marliese Streefland on Unsplash

rain like february

 

it came in the night

driving and thick

a vertical virtual

wall of precipi…

tation

–

wind rumples

through the eves

crunkling the cardboard

taped to my ceiling

“spielkiste”

from the last time

–

my spiders watch

from the opposite corner

of the room

their spindly legs

like stripped

upside down

umbrellas

–

dehumidifier hums

on 80%

carpets

still feel damp

–

the rains are here again

 

 

 

Photo by Anna Atkins on Unsplash

kim gordon

he asked

what supplements I was taking

don’t believe in them

I said

but

omega, magnesium, muti-B, C, zinc

we talked about

kim gordon, the prodigy,

nine inch nails, I

didn’t admit

I’d deliberately listened

to phil collins

that day

although it

arguably says

more about my health

-or otherwise

than a handful of

encapsulated vitamins

and whether

I’m a nose breather

at night

lies

I remember when you lied

about how you knew me

said we were old friends

from school

but we’d only just met

really

introduced by him

when he moved in

had nothing in common

except

I liked cars

and you had one

we hadn’t come

separately

but driven in

that was my lie

so now we’re even

 

Soundcloud link: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/lies

 

Photo by Christina Langford-Miller on Unsplash

So pretty / spider city

I live in spider city

land of grey webs

spindly legs

and glitter

moving delicately

staking territory

gossamer strands

mark

invisible lands

my octo-eyes

observe

the corners

of my fortress

don’t look up or

disturb me

tick, tick, tock

taking stock

my demesne

well-lit or gloomy

silvery womb

my children

quicken

near invisible

against

white walls

traverse

silken skyscrapers

and exquisite

sprung floors

 

Photo: Unsplash