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MYTHS
Enduring flashes. You sprayed the guests
one by one with the bottle of seltzer,
moving it clockwise around the table,
you took your time before each face
sensing the glow of your inward smile,
the sprayed water a marvel expanding
a deluge with just this small hand pushing
and the sudden grimaces on countenances,
cheeks dripping, mum’s, aunt’s, granny’s,
eyes closed, tightly, skin with long furrows
stretched suddenly like a puzzle.
Someone smiled then, some showed
mild outrage, except your father,
you got a glance of burning rage
but fear was still far
on that continent, on the afternoon
of one of your first birthdays,
your cousins upturning
a small wooden table, glossy
brown and polished, lamps on it
a moon travelling, you sat
on that platform cross-legged
while they pushed you around in a frenzy,
the world slid smooth, the hall a field
of lightened marble.
Sparks. Bits of you. Bits of your front teeth
when you slipped and fell laughing,
mouth open, but no cries then, just
your face flushing with relief
when you realised you could still whistle.
The whistling tune of a golden age.
Fringes of a dream teetering,
the outward shore of a continent now
whose clamours haven’t been
hushed yet
by the stirrings of dawn.
GLUTTONY
Maybe Icarus didn’t want to challenge anybody
by the sea, in full sunlight before climbing the cliff,
with a crisp wind, crystal clear,
sky bathed in running roaring lines,
he simply wanted to taste beyond tasting
swallowing the blue air’s heart
entering its stinging dry pulse,
he couldn’t just sit among the pebbles
and let the bubbling whiteness
and the sizzling turquoise
lap at his feet, gold percolating
through his skin,
he couldn’t just relish elusiveness,
can you?
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