JO McNEICE
Wolf
There’s a train old hero, grey beard
of steam
flickering on the screen, running down the line. In the distance of the
late afternoon,
cup of tea in my hand, I see a white owl fly low
over a field.
In the deception of the evening
a badger walks out of the woods & into the path of an oncoming
car.
A man & his dogs find a deer in the woods & bang
she’s gone.
You never do that a woman tells her daughter-in-law over and over again.
In the yellow kitchen of a dark wood house,
the girl finds lead shot in her
teeth.
The man’s mouth produces saliva forming words he will not speak instead
he turns to me & says
Why are you here? What are you doing here?
I shut my mouth. Swallow back my fear,
it is something from a French horror film. I recognise it.
There’s a woman with a small dog, searching in a hollow for a lamb. She
finds
herself in a quagmire, skirt muddy, pulling herself up.
The dog, the lamb & I run.
She grabs at leaves & roots,
is dragged down,
into the mud.
Her fear embeds itself under my nails,
black and tasting of countryside.
Wouldn’t he love to chew her up
wouldn’t he love to —
of steam
flickering on the screen, running down the line. In the distance of the
late afternoon,
cup of tea in my hand, I see a white owl fly low
over a field.
In the deception of the evening
a badger walks out of the woods & into the path of an oncoming
car.
A man & his dogs find a deer in the woods & bang
she’s gone.
You never do that a woman tells her daughter-in-law over and over again.
In the yellow kitchen of a dark wood house,
the girl finds lead shot in her
teeth.
The man’s mouth produces saliva forming words he will not speak instead
he turns to me & says
Why are you here? What are you doing here?
I shut my mouth. Swallow back my fear,
it is something from a French horror film. I recognise it.
There’s a woman with a small dog, searching in a hollow for a lamb. She
finds
herself in a quagmire, skirt muddy, pulling herself up.
The dog, the lamb & I run.
She grabs at leaves & roots,
is dragged down,
into the mud.
Her fear embeds itself under my nails,
black and tasting of countryside.
Wouldn’t he love to chew her up
wouldn’t he love to —
These things that mushroom
in the kitchen, in the dining room.
in the kitchen, in the dining room.
In the deceiving evening light,
there’s a train, some miles away.
I run towards it.
there’s a train, some miles away.
I run towards it.
Red Tide
‘It’s your life,’ the psychiatrist tells me.
‘Have you put a nail up yet?’ She laughs.
‘What is it you want from us?’
‘Have you put a nail up yet?’ She laughs.
‘What is it you want from us?’
‘Some people should be
steamrolled slowly from
the feet up,’
the psychologist says.
She runs a finger across her
throat, and smiles.
steamrolled slowly from
the feet up,’
the psychologist says.
She runs a finger across her
throat, and smiles.
Black beetle,
black cat,
rat running across
the bathroom floor.
black cat,
rat running across
the bathroom floor.
White lights shine out of paper,
blue lights in the air.
Yellow lights appear on people’s heads.
blue lights in the air.
Yellow lights appear on people’s heads.
Drops of blood appear
on my hands and clothes,
ants through desert sand.
on my hands and clothes,
ants through desert sand.
Angels like carrier pigeons
darken the sky.
darken the sky.
A postcard
came this morning
soaking wet:
came this morning
soaking wet:
Resolution in the sea.
Cherry tree. Fish eggs,
dulse & carrageen.
Cherry tree. Fish eggs,
dulse & carrageen.
Silver tongued, catching
tiny fish, messages delivered
in serrated teeth.
tiny fish, messages delivered
in serrated teeth.
Now just you wait
with your mermaid
scales desiccating.
with your mermaid
scales desiccating.
Buried in the sand
eyes open
waves washing
over the top of you.
eyes open
waves washing
over the top of you.
All this life
blooming in the water,
blooming in the water,
all this life
blooming in water.
blooming in water.
Another of my bloody love poems
It’s an old dog
of an idea.
Deaf, incontinent
and milky-eyed.
of an idea.
Deaf, incontinent
and milky-eyed.
I found her
on a path in Wadestown.
Walking in circles,
stumbling.
I stood there awhile
wondering what to do.
on a path in Wadestown.
Walking in circles,
stumbling.
I stood there awhile
wondering what to do.
Was there anything to do?
Then a voice.
‘That’s Prudence,
she’s out for her walk.’
A woman with a platinum
blonde bob appeared
from a character home.
‘That’s Prudence,
she’s out for her walk.’
A woman with a platinum
blonde bob appeared
from a character home.
Relieved, it wasn’t my problem.
And a little ill.
How can something
in such a state
be kept alive?
And a little ill.
How can something
in such a state
be kept alive?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jo McNeice completed an MA in Creative Writing at the IIML in 2013. She lives in Wellington.