By CONOR MAXWELL
23 years old
University of Waikato
Like feathered Mercury
Winged stasis mid-air,
Perpetual catch and
Fall.
Snakeskin bibles on
A poisonwood bench
Oaken academe.
You taught yourself to fly-
Rucksack dependence
Shamrock engraved in a sycamore cross
Three nails, the Eucharist
And a father who drinks too much.
You were too afraid
Of Hellfire,
Of leaving your family behind,
Of navy torrent, ocean swell,
High-tide and
The sun.
Leather distilled complacent
Sans movement-
Save for a stroll ‘cross ivory shards.
Sea spray epiphany;
Polished heels
Scuff Catholic grit
On still shores
When placed between
(Suspended between) Placed between
Titan Helios’
Sonic ultraviolet and
Typhoon lavender depths,
You sank Neptunean feathered atomic
And you Sir-
Emerged from Under
Alone.
Ruptured brow
Salted volcano then wax-
Then hot wax
Then plummet young comet,
Fireball historic;
Title precedence above his
Inventive father.
Auden admires distant legs,
Paternal sensibilities absent.
Your fatal decision
Was not soaring high enough.
This poem is part of the TEARAWAY Young Poets feature for National Poetry Day.
SHARE THIS POST...
