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.