After Thought
Rose Kennedy
Part 1
I fell in love with a cliff face last summer. He had jagged edges, like baby teeth; won last
place at being ugly, he had uncut hair, like pink chicken meat, he grew it all year
why is perfection so much more loyal, when it is by accident? Sunset-love, I
drank raspberry vodka and vomited secrets, like we had prematurely met
but we stayed anyway. I fell in love last summer, with the word you
and said it ’till it rusted; the first time we got there too late and
missed the train, accidental didn’t seem so loyal this time. I
bought the pink moscato on his child-heart-lips, didn’t
ask for cash, we were flushed and veiny I know
that doesn’t make you soulmates but that
doesn’t mean you can’t believe it, you
know? On the way home I would
stop and reach for change
first pay-phone in my
whole entire
life.
Part 2
This summer I
fell off a cliff. I didn’t
realise it’d be so
hard; when
did air, get so hard? you
know, I left
all my coins at the pay-phone I
used to call you on and strangers would steal them, I saw them,
most things are not
nice to watch. How come
you didn’t see me at the back of that concert?
I didn’t recognise you, either. You were
Everything
It seems
I don’t have health cover; I look different
now,
my diary can’t remember a time before you
I wonder where you told your mum you were all summer
I look different now. Mum said ‘stop crying wolf’ with mouth full of water
I realise she doesn’t know, either
I realise jellyfish are almost not there; that doesn’t mean they don’t exist
It’s funny how everyone can only recognise
my inside when it’s on the outside of me
now you can tell I’m pretty smashed
on the outside, too. I
have been underwater for ages, I can’t tell how long, am I a jellyfish?
tell me what I am now
if it’s still pretty to you
even if that’s not true, tell me anyway,
I can’t tell what feels good
or
bad.
Part 3
I write this poem next summer, with sheet-threads, from a comfortable bed, and really you can
guess how long it took me to find sheets that didn’t know your silent silhouette
I rename the part of the sea that I fell in, lilac thrown, floating stone, under-grown,
miss you? No. I coerce the truth to trust me, now, and often forget to think of you.
me myself and I become a pretty band, we tour bloodstreams, and get paid cash-in-hand,
more than that, I mine truth and amethyst; things that are still beautiful, even when you’re more
than sure they don’t exist, I murder Schrödinger's cat, I don’t care if the end doesn’t answer,
I know the sky is jealous of me, “Isn’t it beautiful,” I whisper, mouth full of women teeth;
miss me? I promise I’m never leaving, custard, water-colour words, then accidentally never see
you again; I make a boat out of my bones, thick and strong and full, and when they ask
what for? They’ll ask again, over and over in awe, “Which came first, the boat, or the girl?”
a voice will say inside me, “It rains; I swim, I sink. It pours; I sink, I swim.” What a
nice place it will be, when my happiness doesn’t notice anymore, where the water is.
strange of you to come. I’ll get out a glass of wine, and tip it into the sea, a funeral after-
thought.
Rose Kennedy is an emerging Sydney writer of contemporary memoir, short stories, and spoken word poetry. Rose is an unflinchingly devoted syrupy-storyteller, coffee-spiller and anecdote-excavator. Her poem After Thought was shortlisted for the 2023 Future Leaders Writers Prize. Although she has backpacked the world, she finds her home on the page.
