Home & other poems

Words by Chloë Callistemon

Published on February 20, 2013

 

Home

a child
is built with a house
grows
skinward
as red earth is levelled
heart beats
with the squeeze
of earth pressed into bricks
kicks
against concrete-hardened
calloused hands
somersaults
as walls rise to rooms
waits
until spring breaks
in a swarm of fireflies
as the house pauses
to watch a comet
screams
into the world
into the bones of a house
sleeps
to the sound
of mattocks on stone
sits
in sawdust
filling the cracks
crawls
up slate steps
to blinding sky
falls
into wet concrete
each foot and hand and knee
pressing this earth
stamping
a home

 

Universe Ember

The crows’ croaking dawn
chorus
rouses towering blue
gums    to    lift

their
roots    and    wander
hills.
   A chainsaw
shreds the morning    and hills
crumble.
Rocks
fly       sky-ward,
     

punch
cobalt
holes
through the cumulous
floor.
We
dance
in a   pebble
storm   and
dust-clotted
hair pulls us down
to the
stars.
Pulsars
flare with hammer blows
and
our
galaxy
slides on a
rasp.
A
door
slams out the light
and      in the silence
of mid-morning
smoko,
the sun
burns the
universe
away.

[if we could speak
between

our
words, would it help?]
       

speak spea ak ck ka-ep cape
sss

[nothing echoes in the spaces]
     

spae
aces says sp sss ape sap?

[not even nothing]
     

no
thing noth north orth auth thing

[other words clot there]
     

were ords fords dz ssss dore ah-door
I-wood-door

[so there’s no space to hear]
     

h h h ear hrrr ear
he her hrrr  hssss

[or speak with anything but tongues]
     

tun gz tong gz ton gues gnot guess t?

[too wet]
     

weh t we t tew

[for speech]
     

spe-ache shhhhhhh

[shhhh]
     

speak