Sarah Jane Barnett
She wakes into night madness break up hospitals crossing over
in the next ward, her nightie, the night time tea trolley,
and because she's confused she tells the nurse about a trip to Australia
when she was a young thing, with its roaring sky and nothing between
them but bombing frass moths, and how, for years after he would never be seen
from above—the moon tracing silver along the railway lines—from the air
no less, but the nurse just says there may be a long wait
and swivels the radio to listen to an interview with a glassmaker
in Stourbridge, which is her hometown but that's as clear as a coal smoke,
or that red sky—they left the house at a run so she had to leave behind
the little things: the shape of her hands, her understanding of bread,
and afterward a woman with a cameo on her blouse said she felt her legs
just move. Just move, she said, away from the sound.
|© Copyright 2012 Sarah Jane Barnett & Trout.