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Previous work has been published in a'pos'tro'phe, Deep Cleveland LLC, Lily, Dicey Brown, Stylus, BlackMail Press and many other fine literary journals.


Bleeding Knuckles

Bee's juice is used in jelly
squirted from a plastic tube, the one
you left next to my underwear.

I found it after you said my face
was inscrutable when I concentrate
outside where kookaburras

sit on the rusty swing. It's impossible
when you say I look sad,
mention it isn't fair I won't explain

why some of my faces
are ancient as rage without considering
my other faces glow after sex

or with anticipation of seeing you
again. It's hard being close with all
this distance like the time spent shopping

and later, in the kitchen, slowly basting
lamb shanks because you said
it was your favourite food.

The knuckles cut, meat fell off the bone
when you phoned. You said you
were tired and cranky and did I mind

if I didn't see you for a while.
I have bees juice used in jelly.
I removed it from the bedroom drawer,

tidied up the rest of the room.
It's now so quiet, you won't hear
me yell, let alone talk.

Copyright © 2007 Alison Eastley