landscapes

we found a clearing once, an imagined spot for an imagined couple

bindii and three-eyed-jacks marking the dance floor

the threat of cold and vagabonds exposed,

we built a fire

A mother would offer her daughter stories

of hope for the broken,

so convinced that pain was being suffered

and not caused.

A mother would proffer fun-size tales of kitsungi,

the daughter’s gold

burning everyone she touched.

A mother upheld altruism and piousness

anti-ageing and morality,

whilst stealing from the dead.

monsters believe

that it’s the great towering,

torrents of admiral and azure

which they rain down upon you

skewering your eyelids with threats of self-harm

whispering of the algae

blooming inside,

which renders you flayed and forgetful

for now you are an amnesiac,

an all-watching Swiss

but it was never that

it was always the before,

mothers and silence and secret rooms

one day you’ll wake

adjusting your eyes to a new clearing,

the monster a faded Jack-in-the-box

a cautionary tale of sleeplessness,

and the cackle of bullshitters the only reminder,

of a fear you outgrew

you left,

a witness in need of protection

to arrive at a desert of slabs and softness

golden women without jump scares,

nostalgia and seasons

with your chin raised to the sky