This poem was first published in #185 of orbis, the international poetry magazine. It also features in my second collection Nothing serious, nothing dangerous, published by Indigo Dreams in 2019.
Just another week
This morning, my wife lay sleeping
in a cotton gown, winter-white.
the maid was ironing our secrets.
Lemons and oranges within reach.
I left my pale hands at home.
It is a holy day in another country.
Here in England, it’s a mother-of-sleet morning.
I’m waiting for the delivery of our new bed.
Pine, of course.
I came back to the office
where I slept with my analyst.
There is no couch –
it must have been a dream.
When you walk down the stairs,
it’s best not to think of Escher.
I am the plate you are spinning
so fast, I’m dizzy.
Don’t let me go. Don’t drop me.
I said fasting, not faster.
I might take up praying again.
You’re a basket case I said to myself
in that make-something-of-the-day voice.
Then the first cow re-appeared.