Yet not his sister

You call. I hear you.

As I hear you, I touch you.
As I touch you, I know you.
As I know you, I love you.
As I love you, I see you —
Oh let me see you!
       a vision?
Let me see you!
       a prison
Oh let me see you!
       a reason?
When you see me
you will release me.

You knock. I hear you.

I didn’t let you in today
thought you’d derail me
wanted to stay straight today
thought you might bend me
knew you’d possess me.
Let me dream with you again tonight and I’ll
let you in tomorrow, I promise.

my dream

the young man (so young)
the bullets
the pain
and I was his only…
the only place he could go
his mother
       yet not his mother
his lover
       yet not his lover
his sister
       yet not his sister
his friend
       yet not his friend…
His sister. That, I choose.
It was a dream — just a dream.
And yet I am
his sister.

I call. I knock. Let me in.

Let me be a sister again.

Let me tend your hurts, hold you
share your grief, release you
touch your hands, befriend you.

Love is a verb. How may I love you?

(First published in WordThirst)


My mystical dark-haired dream phantom
with eyes of amethyst
skin of chalk
muscles of a stallion and voice
of a stripped and polished emotion —
My mystical dark-haired dream phantom
are you meditating now as you sit
flickering on your bright strewn floor
among Western shapes and Oriental colours?
Are you beckoning now as you pass
between rooms, without moving,
into a darker, softer zone
of cushions and rare stringed instruments?
You are beckoning and
I am following.

I pick up a strange guitar
strange but comfortable
I play a simple alternation on
the top two strings, the notes awaken,
and my mystical dark-haired dream phantom
When he sings it is another universe.
A universe where pi is different
but still irrational
A place where Truth and Love and Sex are One
and my dream phantom is all and one.
His voice makes it possible,
the swirl of his tones.
His long dark hair is singing
his amethyst eyes are crying
and the lines on his middle-aged skin
are smiling.


The fear is overwhelming.
Disturbingly, I dream
of you with your slick black hair
your wide smile
and your comic accent.
A roly-poly person,
you suit a t-shirt:
your business shirts are too tight.

In my dream, I can see you clearly.
It really is you and not just the idea of you.
We’re in a room, talking.
How old are you?
I guess 30
but I could be wrong.
I’ve known you two years.
Are you married?
Do you have children?
What do you do at the weekends?

You notice a tape on my desk.
We discuss music, finding
we share some tastes
and I, stupidly, am surprised
to find you human
I get such a smile out of you.

Disturbingly, I dreamed.
Disturbingly, I know
when I see you next
my nerves will leap:
may I be your friend?
The fear is overwhelming.