Accessibility Tools

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

'Mostly water', a new poem by Bonny Cassidy

by
March 2014, no. 359

'Mostly water', a new poem by Bonny Cassidy

by
March 2014, no. 359

In winter the garden
like the back of our mind

a faint young sun.

By dawn the house
has forgotten much of it.

                ___

Last night I caught you
reading strands from the plughole

pointing to the shrunken stranger
crackling in the tumble-dry.

I thought of my grandmother pointing
proudly over her daughter’s shoulder
to the photograph of her daughter.

                ___

The rain rises fast.

I’m wondering what my young girl’s doing
now, and what if
she were faintly real.

I’ve made you aware
you’ll never know.

                ___

When you quiz the electronic mind
she doesn’t listen –
and as you sleep
I break her up
into neat little sticks.

Let them lie.

                ___

You wake

our hydrogen bonds.

I’m mostly water
as you know.

You’re saying how warm you feel
trying to scrape off my sweater
like an energetic young son.

                ___

The rain hovers

removes its feet.

You May Also Like

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.