2 Poems by Marilyn Humbert

BLURRED LINES

Sunshine in Jake’s world
slips through curtain gaps
in oblong splashes of gold,
bouncing off toys on the shelf,
organised smallest to the front.

On the blue rug
between two red diamonds
Jake is singing, spider-legs crossed
lining up matchbox cars
with fingers
that will never play piano
or finesse a flute.

Beyond the square window
kookaburras are laughing —
it’s the birds always the birds.
The clangour,
and swooping shadows
leave him shaking,
screaming

until the acute a...

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