2 Poems by Marilyn Humbert

10

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 angles

of his ordered world
are secure.

 

 

THE PENDULUM

 

his spider-legs pump

through blue morning grind

the rattle and clunk

of the chain-link beat

 

tawny curls

twirl and flop

this oarsman paddling

seas of sky

 

whooping

and swooping

he tracks the day moon

navigating time

 

all day long

the sting of his father’s hand

his mother’s tears

play over and over

the pendulum swings

 

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