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last update: 13 Aug16

 

 

Collyer Syndrome                      Joe passed away

 

Turner's House                      For

 

Collyer Syndrome

For years now I’ve pretended to be good-looking
and let them make what they can of it, me as
 
photos of me, skipping through colour supplements
this week, next week, scrupulous as to where and
 
when I unfold and, often as not, making my entrance
on the arm of a detractor. I gather captions to me,
 
theirs among many. Between the lies, read
how they seek me out like an ill-chosen beloved.
 
Let them keep me on shelves, on floors, in narrowing
passageways where rooms once were. I will nest
 
and yellow with them and when at last they crawl
into that no-space where the ribs cannot open or shut
 
and the poor heart stops, let it be me that’s found
there, thousands deep and not yellow but golden.
 

Rosemary Norman

first published in The SHOp no. 46-47, Autumn 2014;
in collection For Example, 2016, Shoestring Press,
ISBN 978-1-910323-59-5


 
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Joe passed away

He was a regular. Every time
he’d pick up his manners
 
where he left them, and a smile
that allows, yes, rules were broken,
 
half withheld. He’d make a pound
each from he knew who.
 
It’s not instantaneous, passing away.
You’re eased off the streets
 
drunk on anything you can get,
into a no-man’s-land of kindliness
 
with half a mind you’d think
to turn you back, but no, it’s heaven
 
for you, the bastards all in white.
Your mother’s there. You ask
 
her as you did strangers on earth
why if she loved you she gave you birth.
 

Rosemary Norman

first published in The SHOp no.44, Spring 2014;
in collection For Example, 2016, Shoestring Press,
ISBN 978-1-910323-59-5


 
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Turner’s House

Light strips the trees
       and ghosts the windows
 
till they pass
       through one another freely
 
and the square rooms
       frame and reframe themselves
 
for whoever there is.
       “I am here,” says Light.
 
“I have stepped into your shoes
       for the sake of the more suggestible
 
caller. Dust motes and I
       obscure for them your prolonged absence.
 
They do not overhear
       my remarks and if they did,
 
no matter. They would smile
       and enquire to whom I am speaking.”
 

Rosemary Norman

first published in South Bank Poetry no. 22, Winter 2015;
in collection For Example, 2016, Shoestring Press,
ISBN 978-1-910323-59-5


 
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For

For the night window to slant
above my bed.
 
For my dimensions to be what they are
with the cleanliness of a fossil
 
in rock, that is distinct
but is nevertheless and also rock.
 
For a foothold in air, the far
side of the glass, to admire how I lie.
 

Rosemary Norman

first published in London Grip, Winter 2012;
in collection For Example, 2016, Shoestring Press,
ISBN 978-1-910323-59-5


 
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