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Proudly now we feature our first installment of |
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selected works by New Zealand poet |
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Marion Jones |
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_____________________________ |
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Balloons
—Chickenpox |
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Ointment can’t soothe an itching. |
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Fingers can’t hold a pencil. |
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She must stay in her room. |
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Tall as a door, |
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her father comes in. |
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Bending his knees, |
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a double hinge, |
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his seat neatly fits |
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the other pink chair |
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at her small table. |
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His arms draw her to him. |
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Find a page, choose a colour. |
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He guides the pencil point |
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exactly inside wide black lines. |
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A boy, two girls, shoes, sox, pants, |
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frocks, and three balloons. |
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Pink, green, and blue. |
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Her itching gone, |
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his knees unhinge. |
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For days, she looks |
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at those balloons. |
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_____________________________ |
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Mannequin |
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Your arms have prickles. |
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Stepmother stands on a box |
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Daddy pats muck on her underwear. |
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Why are you in your undies? |
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Daddy’s making a model, |
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so I can fit my clothes. |
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Stop asking questions. |
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Before she asks, he says, |
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My wooden paddle mixes |
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paper, flour and water. Then |
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my scissors will cut sticky |
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tape strips to bind the mache. |
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Ruth’s tummy sticks out, |
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her chin, a knob under |
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Humpty’s egg-shaped head. |
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Are you Humpty-Dumpty? |
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Are you a bog fairy? Are you? |
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The mash is setting, he says. |
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Your clothes will fit like paper |
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on the wall. A beauty you’ll be! |
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Wrapped in tape and pasty |
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paper, she steps down. |
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I want to see. Let me. |
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It’s private, Ruth says, |
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closing the door. |
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Next morning, the dummy stands on |
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a pole. One leg, no arms. A cripple. |
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_____________________________ |
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Ankle Shadows |
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Wait until four o’clock, five o’clock, |
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until he leaves his desk for |
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Sunday afternoon’s walk. |
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Wait to cross double lanes, |
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to cross Interstate Route 66. |
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Hand in hand, ankle shadows |
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link, as father, as daughter walk |
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double wheel tracks through sweet- |
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smelling sage to glimpse round |
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tails of cotton bobbing ahead of |
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shadow daughter, shadow father. |
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Quickly she walks to keep up, |
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to grow as tall, to know as much. |
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And always hold his hand? |
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Scrunch, scrunch, says the gravel |
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underfoot. In sinking sun, |
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her shadow question fades, |
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as father, daughter disappear. |
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poems copyright 2009 Marion Jones |
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| Copyright 2009- WJ Schafer & WC Smith - All Rights Reserved |
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