SOLSTICE
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.
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.