Issue 15, January/February 1998
Joy Reid - Two Poems

Whey-faced, 
wane,
the moon 
in her nightgown
sighs and rolls over.

Brumby skittish
surging foam
races to shore
a tangle of mane,
wild eyes, snorted steam.

With 
spatter fat sounds, 
stone clawed sand,
sweeping water
trowels the shoreline 
slick, shiny-wet 
like new concrete laid.

My role is silence,
no part of this evening's display.

Footsteps fish bone
in every direction
sign posting:
	cigarette stashes, 
	lovers' nooks.
Soon,
I'll return
to fire and faces,
to minds, tentacle-sly
and a sea of eyes.

Tata,
don't evade me,
make hump back shoulders,
walk away.
Pride was always your 
favourite child,
but I have a claim as well.

Tata,
look at me
I have your eyes,
blue as icebergs 
trapped beneath the surface.
I have your height, 
your thin, fine hair.
Look at my hands
broad as shovels
unlovely, but capable,
wide feet too, 
aeons of
splay-footed peasants
are recorded in my feet.

Tata,
forgive me,
I know this brings you pain,
but you see
I am so frightened,
so ashamed 
of what I'm asking,
I want you so much 
to love me,
once before your death.