JANE ARTHUR
Gather, Daughters
I open my mouth to sing
and it is wailing doesn’t reach the front door
childish blues
old plaintive lullabies
pop misogyny
absentminded humming attempted operatics
bass notes
Wait I’m not making any noise
In the mirror I study my mouth
it’s awkward
thin cries too much
silently as though it doesn’t really need to
as though the feelings aren’t material enough
to resonate as sound
Wrong
Let me tell you exactly how I feel I feel
like when flowers shed and gather in gutters
beautifully
and the closer you get the worse off they are
torn slippery disintegrating cigarette ends
like that like death but
pretty
but past it
the last tolling echo of a siren’s song
Tell me
tell me about Viola
beautiful Viola was 12 years old
But anyway
but anyway
12 years old and she had a baby
I’ve not had a relationship with any god at all
but if I had
I’d look up their number and call it to ask them
to
—whatever being okay looks like—
make Viola that
That’s what I think when I think of her
Let’s all be modern witches cursing whatever we please
cursing what we fear
and conjuring
Let’s part our lips
think of the loudest scream
and stand wide mouthed
until our breaths run out
kick our toes against the ground
until the earth dusts up
At every turn the memory
of the great wars trenches, maggots, incendiaries, artillery
the price of sweetening
our tea
the price of pulling on our armour
every morning though it grazes our nipples messes our hair
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jane Arthur is a Wellington-based poet and editor. She has a Master of Creative Writing from the IIML and won the 2018 Sarah Broom Poetry Prize, judged by US poet, Eileen Myles. Jane’s first poetry collection will be published in 2020 by Victoria University Press.