EMMA BARNES

 

Landslide

 
I am her reflection, she is my reflection. 
I was a tiny girl, held between two fingers. 
 
I rolled out sheet music for automatic pianos, 
through the holes pricked grass, through my 
 
fingers the ridges slid. The air pushed me down, 
the ground came up, she, she, she, was a whis- 
 
perer. Later, a larger girl, I swallowed the 
paper, piece, by body, by piece and she lifted 
 
me with her hands, her rough hands, and she sang 
out loud. I realised in this instant that I had al- 
 
ways been here with her. Right from the start 
when I popped out of the oven, just like this. 
 

Last Year

 
A bicuspid valve has two points, a line: point 
to point, A to B, a tooth. 
 
She doesn’t use furniture, instead she stays 
upright only lying down to sleep. 
 
Two men endure. They endure apart and 
endure together and in the end endure. 
 
Like a nautilus, out growing chambers, 
sealing them off, I run rings around myself. 
 
In the blue-dark of pre 6am I walk naked 
through the house, the curtains open. 
 
One night I roll over in bed and you crawl up 
under my chin and stay there. 
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Barnes lives in Aro Valley with two cats, a lot of pottery and a very nice partner. The most constant thing in her life has been writing. In March of this year she released her own lit magazine Enamel and is currently working on round two.

 

Return to 2009 contents >