We talked in our big voices
about the black sky
between interstellar clouds,
about the shadow space
between the stars and yet
Bea stayed in the car while
I watched the moon, full
and orange, and rising
over the dunes, the surface
of a split open runway –
the salt lake, the tent poles
over cities, mountains,
the backs of trees
overpowering waterfalls,
all she said was:
I wish it never happened.
We never talked about how
the cracks in our teacups
and coffee dregs are now
simply leftovers,
never talked about her ex,
or sex without pain
or how the rain is warmer
when she’s with me
or how one might split the custody
of a vegetable garden
spinach, sunflower, bucket bean,
about how we wept
in separate rooms,
hoping to be heard by the other.
In this new place the windows
are bigger, the curtains are open.
Published by The Poetry Business as part of Abbie's poetry pamphlet 'Threadbare' in June 2020. To find out more or to buy the book, see here.
First published in 2020 in issue 52 of Crannóg, Ireland's premier fiction and poetry magazine. If you'd like to hear a reading of it, follow this link: