Linda Stevenson is a founding member of Melbourne Poets Union, facilitator of poetry groups in gaols and community centres, contributor to anthologies. Chapbook “The Tipping Point”, a collection of eco-poems published in 2015, feature guest poet on Radio 3CR “Spoken Word”. Active as a poet within the online poetry sector, hosts regular Salons at her home in Frankston, Victoria
None of Your Letters
I only knew you’d gone
because I read of a memorial
in your honour. Very good.
But none of your letters
had mentioned leaving,
except where you wrote
“Dum spiro spero”
half a century ago.
“While I breathe, I hope”
I guess that was on topic in a way,
though the ink has redacted itself
to merely a watery hint,
the writing paper
When you were 19 going on 47,
you took so long with your makeup
that I would leave you there
at the hallway mirror
and head off to the tram stop alone
so one of us
would get to work on time.
I’m still considering
whether to forgive you or not.
Too much and not enough; art and poetry,
beat and incessant beat, crowds.
Millings around the large word.
Auditoria, soundings, instruments, walls.
Wailing. Contemporary blueprints.
Critique this...holding out broken arms,
frames of reference, essence, kitchens.
I have prepared for you a simple meal,
as when true hunger leads us to gardens
of sustenance, and we pick delightful fruits,
a soft bloom on their skins; no surfeit,
just enough, savouring a dear precision
of need and offering.
The playboys of the western world are weary.
Their knees hurt. They cry softly into their instant
noodles, plaintive; fall
into wardrobe mirrors, fall into themselves,
image upon spun image of virility lost, that one
lovely young girl beyond grasp. And they know
she always was untouchable, as old hags
reclaim playboy essence again. Murder,
heads on poles, weapons, weapons, haircuts,
spinning shards cracking them up, cracking
them open, killing them and everyone else...
exactly what they always hoped for.