Sea-Rattle
The sound of the sea reaches our tenement
tonight
tides curve their tails around towering
brickwork
chasing pipework in circles, staining
windows
with rims of salt, seeping in to rot the
floorboards.
The mice make boats out of bone china
teacups
stream towards sewers licking their
whiskers
the light in our room radiates, challenges
moonshine
signals ghost ships, throbs like a endomorphic
heartbeat.
I hear the hammering of planks in the
stairwell
the gutteral pull of the seas sweeping
swell
two by two in minature diptychs the neighbours
escape
abandoning hope and lifes nexus of
souvenirs
for the bounty of blue, starlight and the promised
land.
I bolt my doors as the paint starts to
peel
the volgaraties of emulsion steer me away from
corners
a flock of gulls crash their beaks against
glass
and the sound keeps replaying like a foreboding
drumroll
the sea rattles then roars, furniture soon
floats
to the ceiling, like a spell water funnels up the
chimney
lights sizzle then burn out, moons flag on the
horizon
I start to wonder how long before everything is
engulfed
the fumes are quick, eyes adjust to the
sting
lungs inflate and learn to speak, I hold my
breath
listen to their oscillations and swim towards the
sky.
*Janette Ayachi has a MSc in Creative Writing and her poetry has been widely published, her last publication was in New Writing Scotland 29. Red Squirrel will publish her pamphlet A Choir of Ghosts this year, and her first full book collection in January.