In Remembrance of Stars Past

The pelican is so dovey, with her funny crème anglaise feathers with pink and her split-ended  crest and  mouth.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and see Pavarotti

singing Lacrimozart by Salieri.

In the park you had a dandelion flower under your chin

there was an ill pigeon that Jake caught in his hands

a nostalgia  that day I just wanted to be free like a spore  or see a planet which died 103 years ago

and think, jealous, that you are better

feeling things more, I guess I want proof that I’ve lived.

Miguel Cullen is a British-Argentine poet and journalist. He lives in London with his wife and daughter. Cullen grew up travelling from Buenos Aires, the vast expanse of the Pampas, to south-west London and back again. He has published three collections of poetry, most recently In Dreams of Diminished Responsibility. Miguel’s work has been published in, among other places, Magma, Dreich, and Stand. His books have been named “Book of the Year” in The Times Literary Supplement, and The London Standard.