Saturday, 31 October 2009

Globe: my finalist's piece in: Aesthetica Magazine's international creative works competition

There was a moment when you were suspended
On the bar at the foot of my bed, toes gripping the rail,
Aping soles,
Arms outflung.

In your hand, a massive sphere.
Tissue paper tightly wound round a wire
To diffuse the light.

In the other, the old bulb
That you handed down to me,
The long life kind
With careful filigree bends
And inner tubing, something experimental.

(You are the graced juggler, sending circus balls orbit wide
Under the sweep of the tent.)

In exchange, I gave
The other dimmer thing, slid from the box like a baby’s head.
I watched your arms extend
Your wrist screw and you, squint up.

The old bulb is still with me,
Its tiny, tinkling rattle:
I like these defunct ones,
Gone dead.

In between the linking of each pair
(The swap that makes the light, casting the lines)
When no one is here who can reach
I rest in the shade.


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