A Poem by Kathy Parker


On the solstice our limbs mourn,

already forgetting their unfolding

beneath shafts of lemon light.

Salt air quickens breath toward 

us; we turn our faces away, afraid 

to become as rust. Days shorten; 

moss grows in the shadows we

try to conceal. There is a rain that

does not leave our bodies; we

never did learn how to dry out

yet still we try and wring the 

wanting from our bones.

The same hope that opened us 

closes us again. Winter reveals

all we could never speak in the 

sun; this half-life we call love. 

Poetry by Kathy Parker

Kathy Parker is a writer, poet and spoken word performer. In 2020 she won the SA Summer Slam, Ruckus Brisbane May Slam and Enough Said May Slam. Her work appears in Anti-Heroin Chic, and is published by Animal Heart Press and Black Bough Poetry.

About the contributor

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