Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Three November-December 2024
Aotearoa Poets and Writers Special Edition
Dinner, poems by Erica Stretton.
dinner
the house gives up midnight for morning but holds onto the thousand-
moon shimmer. every shade of emotion poured into the stolid and boring
bricks. we slap on purple and pink to the walls, stardust splatter, with a
brush that barely has any bristles. she dances as if the world might end,
and her feet twinkle with glitter. ‘More,’ she demands, ‘more night stars,’
and you deem it more important than every other never-ending task. the
washing waits. the vacuuming, too. the cacti lean toward her spiky and
difficult. we paint them into canvas. wispy feathery stripes into blossoms,
silky flesh. this is a masterpiece. the brush presses into her face; she spins
and spins until it’s time for marshmallows in the bath. he comes home
and she is delivered a bundle into his arms. he doesn’t appreciate her
brilliance and he will sigh. mostly under his breath. even though she is
clean and clean and smiling and filled with dancing bubbles. sigh and ask
what’s for dinner. will it be ready soon.
Planting for Spring
hovering over the tray,
you touch your biggest babies with subtle fingers
they lift their heads, unfurling cotyledons, tiny leaves
bead buds
stories spill from eager lips as you stroke leaves
we sprinkle life giving crystals trapped in drops
I separate the seeded lovers
their roots tangling frail, freed from saturated soil
save them, lest you weep
you are the glee for my day
the eagerly-given grin
I am your life preserver
my care is all for your face
a panorama of floating dreams
clear of tears and broken capillaries
I lock your hurt in my weak hands
banish tears
but you yank out the smallest plants
take the fragile stems
between your fingers, snap them
a curt sound
overflowing
the rain is thin like paper, tissue-soft and moulded to form twice
smudge myself in amongst the lines
follow and fall, spiralling through the mall filled with folk
shedding skins in the controlled temperature
the screeching lights radiating down the back of a thousand pimply necks
i slapped on another face for this mall, undirtied tramping boots
rivers rumble on, dank mustiness underground, aboveground spilling
licking concrete, swallowing asphalt, leaving plenty fee-free
the news boils, feet quiver to scuttle, a thousand sideways spiders onto wheels
my toes touch seeping water – be reight, stop ya beefin’ –
squinting eye beams facing into boots, gridlocked windscreen wipers thrash ineffectively
I have a cupped hand of dirty water and I wonder on concrete
trying to contain all the soil beneath it
© Erica Stretton
Erica Stretton has a Master of Creative Writing (First Class Honours) from the University of Auckland. Her short fiction and poetry can be found at Headland, takahē, Mayhem, Flash Frontier, and others. She is a freelance editor and book reviewer, and is currently working as editor for Kete Books.