by Rose Hunter
When swordfish speak
reminds me what you said
when I told you how
I washed up in the rooms
with the garden chairs, yeah
you might not want to lead with that—
you were joking, and not–
swordfish speak
at a dinner party
with grandfather clock
creaky floorboards
velour tuxes and elbows
jousting the mahogany silence
contretemps
the bump in the night
the dropped cymbal
swordfish slaughter
a shower-curtained frenzy
post-traumatic, rageaholic
Xiphiidae
when on the hook
torpedo the ocean floor
and swordfish, can you believe it–
lose all their teeth! In my dream
climbing the watchtower
when I reach the top, sober–
now how do I plunge down; where
is my swordfish courage?
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Rose Hunter’s writing can be found at her blog / page, Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me Home. Her first book of poetry, to the river, was recently published by Artistically Declined Press. |
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