Home page

Editorial details

Browse other issues

Subscribe

Guidelines for contributors

Contact details

Interviews

Currajah

[a Walleah Press blog]

LUCY WILLIAMS

              hope

 

hope floats in her coffeepot placed in the middle of the

blue-tiled bench the way the table is wiped clean after

every meal how routine gets under your nails like dirt and

won’t wash out she tidies each small room vacuums the

floor in case of friends watches the book she is reading

and knows that it goes on without her through her large

windows winter skates the neighbourhood her television

set is a lie asleep and dreaming of truth she likes the

people on TV breaks hearts with them over a meal

understands the love she craves could not be good for

her the words she waits for are slow in coming she

constructs a letter from these slow words all winter the

letter makes the hard slog to the end of the page she

checks her age like a watch can’t understand how it got

so late how rough the past kissed her always trying it on

it is a letter to herself remember it tells her where you are

right now how your daughter laughs in this house with

her birth-tree outside how your husband’s arm anchors

you at night to every possibility and the good side of your

heart is a river of blood moving fast and the bad side is

the stone that comes to land there