© Karen Bennett
Keeping Records Photography
e-mail Patricia via poetry p f
I’m having one of my daisies –
hopscotch, throw and jump,
dive off the edge of a skullcap moon.
I can see what’s coming in the anteroom –
are you the lady that wants to be
in the glasshouse?
Does she know about the telescope
in my ceiling? How all day the moon
crouches in the corner and I repeat:
I will not store my voice in a vase on the moon.
Did she catch me stealing the sea
shut tight in a tin with its crumble of rocks –
my beach on a dresser?
Open the lid and surf boils, shivers loose
on a wind-whip, flaking against my legs
and the land dissolves overnight on a tongue of sea.