(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)

Put the lion in his magnificent cell and
worship him there. In my dream leaves
turn into milk quietly. Daylight crushed
my dreams. Birthed the telephone-poet
with her flaming debt-free-volcano-lips.
I’m a clone of that woman turning into a
Starling while my hands smell of garlic.
I am fossil, flesh and bone, fossil-flesh-bone
Didn’t eat bread today so that was a
good thing. Full of sleep. Full of winter
the poetry was enough. The basil leaves
were enough. His voice is like clay in
my hands. I make animals out of the clay.
So the gin remained on the table. I tell
myself to wait for the lines burning-bright
to come to me to go into my future. I’m
left to fill a suitcase with dead flowers.

do you believe you can heal yourself
what materials and tools should I use
inside my heart there’s too much rivalry
too much competition gathering harvest
gathering driftwood by a restless sea
in the absence of the absence of the absence
of your heart for my heart my memory
is full of butterflies full of moths full of
mother tongue silken throat sinful throat
life through a bipolar lens is a mosaic
you mother are living in my bones again
this is my love story for her i never wanted
to have those children during that phase
of autumn in rehearsal mother you were a
difficult woman to love a woman with her
own issues and secrets you’re the fallen
kingdom you’re mine you’re mine but not
mine not mine all at the same time it came
too late her love came too late i am master-
chef life with father is my vanishing tribe
I send her all my love in my rice and meat

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Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
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