Accessibility Tools

  • Content scaling 100%
  • Font size 100%
  • Line height 100%
  • Letter spacing 100%

'The Blind Minotaur', a new poem by Judith Bishop

November 2010, no. 326

'The Blind Minotaur', a new poem by Judith Bishop

November 2010, no. 326

Pablo Picasso, Vollard Suite, plate 97

Night’s the ground beneath my feet
since I learned to walk with you.
Scented guide with birds and flowers on your breath,

it’s no earth, but a sea we walk across.
These sailors, pulling out from shore,
delivered our desertion.

In this new life of mine,
my heart keeps coming on
its every old error, grassed over

as if natural convexities,
the quickly earthed parts of who I am,
underground until the brass of a song

blew in a resurrection mood.
I’d have eaten you alive, girl,
had you come to me trembling around the spiral wall,

dust closing on your fingertips: and then.
Now your eyes are my dominion
which your feet traverse directly,

and your fingers are the chords that stagger me.

Leave a comment

If you are an ABR subscriber, you will need to sign in to post a comment.

If you have forgotten your sign in details, or if you receive an error message when trying to submit your comment, please email your comment (and the name of the article to which it relates) to ABR Comments. We will review your comment and, subject to approval, we will post it under your name.

Please note that all comments must be approved by ABR and comply with our Terms & Conditions.