Press 1



Poetry by
Michaela Gabriel


All I Have To Give by Paul Bleiweis

still # 1 : collision

                         closer to morning
the night breathes weather,
       waxes electric

             he slips a hand
       over my nipple
                         - not the sheets

             a yes to goosebumps
                         lily petal skin
the sheen of thighs

                    who is oyster,
       pearl, who
                         the simple grain of sand

                    i have his name
between my teeth
                         pull him towards me,
       riddles and maze, a star
             on tiptoes

                    a honeyed moon breaks
                         apart in the west
soaks the sky with
                                 milkshake froth

             in his eyes
       i have become onion
                         shedding another layer

i forget how quickly
                             naked can become
                the loneliest word



still #2 : equinox

       this is what my hands
have become: callipers, scales,
                    measuring cups

             my spine a shifting axis
                         where balance is gravity's
       delicate twin

beneath a paper-thin sky
                    tables turn -
             someone plays the hand
                                 he has been dealt

                    i lick the same old wounds, spoon
                         salt onto my breast
       to justify the absence of a tongue,
             cut air into squares

                                 perfect thumbnail shapes for my
       mouth so mute, so enamoured with
needle and thread
                                 in the white noise madness
             after the mantra of his name

                    if i perch long enough
                                 on this tattooed wall
       flight will come naturally

             if i blink, the sky
                         will tilt and crumble
       like shale



still #3 : ties

my hair ought to be in braids, two
                    thick ropes to bind
             the desire he cross-
                                       stitched into my heart
                    before leaving me

                         a pawn, tripped up,
             face down, useless arms tied
                               to a past

       that appears lilac,
             emerald, red grape
                                 - all shades unblue -
only from a distance


             my lips should blister, not
freeze in the shape of his name
                                 as whispered during

             a time of pin point
                 pupils, eyes wide open
       before i became

                                 this blind angel mending
             slashed calico wings, trapped
                          in my dollhouse
                 of grief




This mini-series began with the word "calico". I read it in a friend's poem and realised that even though I like the word, I had never used it in any of my poetry. I built a few lines around it, experimented with form and ended up writing three poems, in part inspired by the list I keep – "words that I could use in poems some day". And as it so often happens with me, the first lines I jotted down can now be found at the end.