May!
The high pressure of storms that will not break. The final release of all the monsters. The crack of knuckles and small twigs underfoot.
May was perfectly bookended by two full Moons.
The first
Bone white and luminous.
I thought of astronauts
And Black women writing
Rage, power and eloquence
for Palestine
The bubbling laugh of Eider ducks
Speckling the coast
The pale bellies of
carapaces and claws
I write new comics
Peering into the hearts
Of pencilled people
like staring into subtle tide pools
And asking ‘who’s there?’
To Do:
Bind spells
Dry grass and twigs and twine
Sew the strongest incantations
I know
Into a stranger’s hat
Read comics in a book shop
A beacon
Full of people I love
and people
I might never know
What a difference a day makes.
The big smoke swallows
Us gloriously for
Twenty four little hours.
The train
The river
The roads
All snake towards a comic book shop
A basement full of folk drawing
And a cold beer on a hot afternoon
with humans I adore.
The Book of Murmurs
Is released.
And so is the breath I was holding.
May was perfectly bookended by two full Moons.
The second
Blue and shrouded in clouds.
There are fascists marching in the streets
No word on the youth who
tried to free Iran
Yellow lines for Gaza
Red lines for Lebanon
And no lines for those who draw them.