Bluebottles
“I’m earning my keep”
fussing over teapots
plates of biscuits, iced
with pointed remarks
No one asked you to
I open a door in my chest
coax out the jackdaw, who sleeps
in my left ventricle
hops onto my palm and coughs
up the shiny, quivering
with each new breath
Damp and sticky with blood
like a newborn
You stamp on every one of them
“Can’t have dreams around here
Can’t feel anything
you’ll enjoy it too much”
Stood behind me you utter diamonds
set in tombstones, unmovable
in your perfection
Each word embedded like barbs
My mind buzzing, resurrecting
memories like persistent, fat
bluebottles, spiralling
as I bat them away
scared to squash them entirely
in fear of the mess they might make
Biting my tongue leaves it bloody
and shredded, no birds to sing my truth
the nest bare, dead and leaden
“You can talk to me” you say, wanting
another chance to proffer advice
I crumble away your offerings
having barely touched my eyes
Jadine Eagle eats way too much cake and recently won the Sarah Smith Poetry Competition.