OK, nail me down.
That’s fine.
Tenderize the I-steak
of my spine.
Melt me to champagne again
again, again, again.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Lover poems
So brave
Do not fear
to be sincere.
Do not give
the shove to love.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Survival kit
Being alive involves
a certain quantity of losing,
maybe six per cent.
Ships planes and
hospital beds, letters
from head office and
blunders all contribute.
The soul travelling
looks for a cloud
and even in the sea
dehydration is
the greatest danger.
The wise provide
for such emergencies.
Knowing a friend may leave
at any time they hoard food
and water, especially water,
and bandage up the heart in advance.
This way they can afford to cry.
Which is right and proper
and the heart does not leak
and they say Yes, yes
I am saved, I have not shrivelled.
Good, good we all understand—
except for how and why at times
a person cries
from the opposite of losing,
from a kind of overflow.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Like Elizabeth Taylor
In the bed
of a bloke
then ipso facto
you’re in love.
No joke.
No matter how
you muscle-train
your cells are jelly
and recall
ding dong ding dong belly.
*
Rachel McAlpine
In khaki
Your eyes are in khaki.
Are you at war
or on safari?
I would hate to be a pet
but I am scared
of dying.
*
Rachel McAlpine
The harbour darkens
The way the grey-green water
settles into the hollow and
swivels in the socket.
The way the green diminishes
and grey thickens and winces
as the wind crams the clouds across the bay.
And how your eyes flick and
heal so quickly after
the harbour darkens above me.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Cat’s eyes
You have cat’s eyes
and they glow in the daytime
flashing go and go and go.
Come to me and I’ll melt
the glass, turn off the light
and lie on pussy willow.
*
Rachel McAlpine
His and hers
Her life
is a mixed farm.
His life
is an antique vase.
Does one need the other?
Does the other need one?
*
Rachel McAlpine
Passports
I love you nervously.
The neighbours know.
Are we manageable?
Can you say that word?
Are we even valid?
I love you mostly with
a careful paranoia and
at times a kind of folly.
There are laws, you know.
I think we ought to whisper.
You have overstayed.
You are one too many.
*
Rachel McAlpine
Je ne parle pas français
In the light you were kiss coloured
and you smelled of dog daisies
bitter sweet.
Puppies of cloud tumbled
into the carriage.
In the dusk you were softened
to tabby, your edges fluffy.
You mixed me into the air.
Through the bright window
the sky purred.
In the dark your edges
sharpened, hard bird
with lightning beak:
the moon cut you out of the black.
*
Rachel McAlpine
(Title is same as the short story by Katherine Mansfield that inspired this poem.)
