Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jackson
Patterned with cows
I want to tell my mother,
I made a successful loaf
in the bread machine you didn’t know
you were leaving me
which has sat untouched
on the benchtop since you went
as Dad sat untouched on the couch
I used your stick mixer, too
I made some hummus
And thank you for buying
such an excellent set of pans
I want to tell her,
I sometimes wear
your cosy blue wool jumper
but I gave away most of your clothes
I gave away all the homespun cardigans
Sorry
I gave away your red thermal top
It was warm, but I found it scratchy
I want to tell her,
I donated the ornaments to Hospice
but I kept the engraved teaspoon you won at golf
and the solid silver serving spoons –
were they your mother’s?
I found the polish
at the back of the laundry cupboard
I want to tell her,
Look! I photographed this rainbow
from your deck
I’m surprised you never tried to paint
the view
I’m living in your house
I never imagined that – did you?
The bedroom had no mirror! How did you stand it?
I want to tell her,
I’m looking after Dad
He’s in a home
I bought him a dressing gown
and winter socks
and – can you believe it? – they’ve got him
using deodorant
He traded in the old Swift
for a fancy new one
then had a stroke
He left the house in quite a mess
but I’m fixing it up. Do you like
my red vinyl floor? So easy to clean!
It was the only colour I could find
that went with the timber
I want to tell her all these things
but I know she wouldn’t have listened
except for the bit about Dad
Deodorant! Good heavens! she would have said
The loaf smells delicious
It needs to cool
I’ll wrap it in one of her tea towels
patterned with cows –
definitely not my thing
but too good to throw away
Jackson has four published poetry collections and a PhD in Writing. Their poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies, including Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook. They were born in Cumbria, grew up in Australia and now live in New Zealand. writerjackson.com facebook.com/writerjackson Instagram: @writerjackson
Kim Waters
You’re a character, a Roman numeral,
an internet meme. Descendant
from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod,
you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet,
Sylvie Jane Lewis
Being quiet and easily tired by being alive among people, I take
the cowardly route to community. I curate a digital garden of oddity.
At best my phone is a menagerie of queers: trinket makers, amateur
playwrights, witches, and, over and over again, my own personal monarchy.
Maryam Alsaeid
Maybe after your bath—
you will sit for a moment,
the towel will hold you close
like a quiet prayer—
Steve Komarnyckyj, Anna Bowles and Lynnda Wardle for Holocaust Memorial Day
where I saw you praying through the angle of the door
Now hangs only in my mind I breathe on its glass wipe away fly specks
Annie Wright
Sing silver times, shimmering columns
of light on the wine-dark, temple
to moon-eyed Hecate, the insatiable.
Magnus McDowall
We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road,
two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell.
We were talking from the chest, walking backwards
crackling air above our heads like streetlights
Yucheng Tao
But look here, I turned my head
and discovered the Denver Museum
waiting,
nerve, a soft-boned
species hums
Sarah Boyd
He’s a house of cards, a delicately balanced pyramid
held together by hearing aids and dusty bifocals and
wobbling dentures and ageing pacemaker and
shirt with three buttons missing in action and
Samantha Carr
You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an
aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps