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New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

A poem from Second Prize Winner, Jackie Gorman

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Shorn

Pale blue eyes looking up,
I put nitroglycerin under your tongue,
as we watch the football and hum “Nessum Dorma”.
I help you to shave or tie a Windsor Knot,
each time noticing the beige circle on your cheek,
melanoma erased by radiotherapy.

In July, you planted a rosemary bush.
Covered in ancient toil and sweat,
I help you undress in the hallway.
Closing the bathroom door, seeing you naked,
all of you was vulnerable and shorn.
Shivering like a cold lamb.
My skin burnt silently and slowly.

You looked at me awkwardly.
I write you a poem with naked eyes.

 

 

 

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