PIA JUUL
The following is a short selection from the piece originally published on pages 93 - 104 of Issue 28.3.
NINE POEMS
by
Pia Juul
witch
we choose horses. I pick first and
Daddy gets the best. in the woods we shall
meet my beloved by the tree.
down the road the gallop pounds. I shall be a
fairy and a princess before the finish. but the stone
shines out to us. soon it will be
too late.
with all of my herbs at my belt.
doubled up. taut. my father feels
secure. he knows my draughts. thinks
I threw the hemlock away.
of that there is most.
when the black one bolts I
am ready. my hair comes loose. unseen
hands at work. the rein
cuts into my hand. wild winter.
see my breath so grand and glorious
in clouds. the snorts of the animals.
when they stop we have come through.
there Mummy sits and sews
my red bridal sheet.
wise Mummy. we wink.
*
it’s there to see in
the kaleidoscope, inherited
the forefather’s glass hands
put together the cylinder
the mirrors and the coloured
fragments
the Cyclopean sleep is
nothing to
the watchful eye he keeps
on all that she stirs
X-ray round the room
captures each raise of the head
she makes each step
she takes
*
not that it’s of any use to you
of course. you’re all in black. you
blend into her
darkened room.
you’ll have to open doors onto light
yourself. the better to see
for yourself how everything is
on fire perhaps. or
not. she is indeed a
miracle moving there as
she does. the consummate
tension in her limbs is
an uncertain shot of
childhood memory which
she reuses and again and
yet again.
your toss of the head
determines her words.
surely you see that, miracle
maker
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