impressions of hate and love

by Caroline Reid

how did we live before grief became a cruise ship pressing on our necks.
before the white assassin who proclaimed love skimmed smooth black
stones over our pink lake. these are the colours of my house. from my boat i
spy footprints in the mud. big toe missing on the right foot. trout ate toe.
destiny ate trout. so it goes. how did we ever live before women gobbled
their own feet. i have other questions too. are we seen. are we valued. are
​we felt.  look. i’m not saying grief is easy. imagine. all your earthly life
you’re a poet. then you keel over. life is a double-parked dream. but don’t
worry. it’s not contagious. when we’re afraid to cry we tiptoe drunk over
aeons of silvery scars. hungry as cabin boys we sniff out honey in the hull.
steal thunder. sail into blame. until we remember it’s connections between
things that save us. now that i’m drowning in seawater i will cut you a
mother moon from this old skiff. how did we ever even begin to live before
tough-talking secrets slipped unnoticed from the shore. joyfully jumped
ship. into the heaving body of poetry.

​Caroline Reid (she/her) found her feet as a writer in theatre and has since developed a diverse writing and performance practice. Her debut collection SIARAD is published in print and audio by Spineless Wonders (ES-Press). Storytelling, dark humour and a whiff of rage are at the heart of all her art.