Poems

As I said, I don't write poems, blah blah. However, Archel started this mailing list. I didn't have any prose to post to it, so I scribbled down a couple of poems too. More might come along in future, although they probably won't be very good either.

What Life Would Be Like If I Was An Artist

If I look past my curtains
I see mountains.
Not tall,
Just mountains.

Sometimes we have haze.
They look flat, painted.
Dry days, with dust.
I could touch them; scratch the surface.

If I wanted, I could climb the top.
Not right now, though.
I don't want to reach them.
They seem too far away for that.

I found a sheet of hardboard from a box,
Ground paint into the rough side
The checkerplate-patterned side.
Thick paint, to give it texture.

It didn't look like the mountains.

Me and My Mother

Skin, soft but rough
Warm, big-fingered
Skin, lined with wrinkles.
Smooth-haired face, soft cheeks.
Legs prickle,
A small scar on her knee.

Clothes Shopping

Feel the fabric,
fingers between folds,
hold it up against my legs,
slip it back into the row,

Blush, breathe fast.
These things are links.
Before my surroundings notice me,
slip it back into the row.

Head half-formed
Sketched-out person
I have the key in my hand
but I don't know how to turn it.