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
Patrick Wright
It’s as if the dream
is telling me we are still joined
somehow, despite waking
and me trudging on, even though
your voicemail is off, your locks
changed.
William Collins
We carry the shame of Paragraph 352D
folded into suitcases at foreign borders,
where love is questioned like a crime,
and disbelief stamped heavier than visas.
They tell us to run for our lives —
but only if we can do it quietly.
Oz Hardwick
The ghost of my mother knows the names of everything, but
she can’t tell me, because ghosts, whatever you have heard
to the contrary, can’t speak.
McLord Selasi
I walk the flat barefoot,
step over old dreams
still curled like cats
in the corners.
Warren Mortimer
& you’ll understand if i leave open this theatre of air
not as the invite for another loss
but to honour their world unwilling to collapse
Jena Woodhouse
Language reinvents itself,
coruscates in signs on walls;
falls silent, mute as clay and stone
on tablets that enshrine its form.
Martin Rieser
The river is an old demon
& my heart is an infirm creature
The river is sure of its way
& my heart is capable of lies.
Sreeja Naskar
glass-tooth morning.
salt mouth.
i left the stove on just to feel wanted.
Gordan Struić
Still —
I kept
writing.
Sometimes
just:
“Hi.”