Paul Jones, Something Wonderful

Moving from House to House

We live in a sacramental universe;

Every small act becomes an act to redeem us:

A brocaded coat repaired and handed down,

A kind of ancient music teasing the attic air,

The bats ganging up between screen and eave.

Sacraments hold us up when we fall down.

No longer dead rites, but buoyant, ebullient

As the dust of past lives settles after crossing

Thin bars of light. Light taunts the bats. It flies from

What’s left of beads and silver woven into the coat.

But the music is something misremembered

Like postmen and doctors knocking at the front door,

Or the cool, but kind, last look from a head nurse,

Or the dark moon that calls “black wings, black wings.”

Further details

Miriam Sagan, Start Again

The Chariot

anyone can read the stars

earth’s fortunes

obscured

by satellites

autumn equinox

a goldfinch hangs

among cowpen daisies

I saw the moon

going down, due west

of my pillow

and golden constellations

on the lapis sky

inside a tomb

you want some advice?

drop the reins

take your hands off the wheel

a many-armed

goddess

might be

disguised as a beggar

in an old cloak

might be

the neighbor

you should love

a little better

than the way—

nagging, imperfect—

you love yourself

might be

the charioteer and you

the passenger

or the reverse

like a horoscope

that could be

anyone’s

but still speaks to you

Further details

Alex Vellis, I saw a bird once

XIII

My mum called

Her monthly phone call

she sounded tired

Old

Told me that Squared had died

not peacefully in his sleep like my dad

more like Sunny

“can you lend me the money for the vet bill?”

Does this mean that Squared

was still there

crying into his water bowl

begging for someone to put him down?

I have been short on cash

but I promise to Western Union her some money

she says “thank you”

and hangs up.

I wanted to tell her

I love her

Further details