I could have come injured. I might have had a scratch
or a bruise or buds sprung up in my lungs
but I own too much to be sick, and you are no nurse,
and won’t stay for blood or eventualities.
I might have come laughing, straw-hatted, proud
of the weight of my tools, of their oils, of my cat,
but their weights are inside me, poorly balanced,
to be discarded, and my cat knows your heart is mute.
I could have come sadly, out of the world’s time and
nowhere at home, hearing steady the negative winds,
but you run from want. You run from want
and reprehend remorse – who trained you so?
So I came to you calm . . . and glad to find you,
abandoning my mocking riddles, my peculiar wit, yet
somewhat more, somewhat more speaking than a mime
and nothing like as pale. Here soft-spun through long
afternoons we list our favourite books and songs.
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?