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Judith Kazantzis

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Sunshine

A speed boat, a wake
like a silver-fish.

A wind like crowsfeet
treading the cloudback.

The pointed husks empty
of fronds and slowly waiting to fall off,

and sun, mad as the hatter,
eyes glinting through the blind slats

wherever my restless head twists
on the very pink pillow-slip,

that old sun gets to me.
I wrote ‘she was so sweet’

while waiting - but in what
airport, what marina gifte shoppe -

for the word. That silver fish
slipped across the ocean like my kitchen floor -

I must sell up; so the word came.
O kitchen floor!

Very high up I lurched across someone else’s
speedboat slewing across someone else’s ocean

leaving that wake of a dolphin
of the kitchen. ‘She was so sweet’,

I wrote it like a mad palm-tree,
I shed, I fall off

and yes, you were, you flew to me
(I grow another, I fall off).

 

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