after Fleur Adcock
Imagine in your rambling you stumble over a dead sheep. Not only dead but full of
maggots. What do you feel — pity or revulsion?
See, pity is for the moment of death. It changes when the decay sets in with its
curling stench and squirming scavengers.
And yet when you return much later, you see shining white bones and the odd
tuft of wool caught on bent grass — inoffensive signs that something once lived;
nothing to raise your bile.
But perhaps you find the analogy for our dead friendship too harsh — too grisly
a comparison?
I chose it deliberately. In you I see the worms on your skin. You are eaten up
by self-love. If I were to come close to you I would smell your rot.
Don’t ask me for charity now. Go away until your bones are clean.
Gail Ingram
Gail Ingram writes poetry, short stories and is working on a short novel for teenagers. Her work has appeared or is pending in Takehe, Fineline, The Climber 2012, Ice Diver, Building a time machine and The Christchurch Press. She is the president of SIWA (South Island Writers Association) and a member of Airing Cupboard, a group of woman poets. She is inspired by great books, family and conservation, particularly of the sublime South Island landscape.
Gail Ingram's website »