brings back an image, water-damaged and close,
shaved each time of a little history;
of me and you stranded together like stripes.
the blue base of you — the green pulse of my veins
charging in your tight hand.
If you liked the look of my salt-dreaded hair
I’m sorry, but that was incidental.
I learnt how to see your light more clearly
by looking just to the left of it.
over the ocean’s battered surface but
despite all appearances,
I cannot rise above it.
You cling like a bat, all leather and darkness,
you cling to a tree I don’t know the name of.
buoyed in elaborate networks but privately,
still prefer two paper cups and a length of string.
We share our papery memories
and all our mother’s favorite aphorisms
blue and green should never be seen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Therese Lloyd’s poetry has appeared in Sport and Landfall, and a chapbook called many things happened, was published in 2006 by Pania Press. She completed her MA in Creative Writing at Victoria University and is the 2007-08 Schaeffer Fellow attending the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.