Fiona Templeton

Medea's bed


                                                                                  one cricket
                                                                                  trills its measure
                                                                                  like a man asleep
                                                                                  that's the thing
                                                                                  I have beside me
                                                                                  a sosoring
                                                                                  a seaming
                                                                                  to have
                                                                                  like the whirr of
                                                                                  sheer living
                                                                                  in my ear not in my eye
                                                                                  the machinery
                                                                                  and the infants chasing
                                                                                  the day in any language
                                                                                  me to grovel

                                                                                  what a daily mapping
                                                                                  each time I see a child
                                                                                  no that's a forethought
                                                                                  a magic early
                                                                                  one of the world

                                                                                  so little leaperboy
                                                                                  what’s going on
                                                                                  for dear life

                                                                                  look they're good look at all of this
                                                                                  up jumps up jumps all in vain
                                                                                  at least around my neck of the cervix
                                                                                  back of the hand

                                                                                  the hollow chesting
                                                                                  is scorn-reaped
                                                                                  here we sit
                                                                                  heads in hands
                                                                                  but hiding marriage on a dayfit

                                                                                  easy breaths
                                                                                  brave on
                                                                                  leaden empty
                                                                                  fruitful pain

                                                                                  it's a love away
                                                                                  cry blatantly

                                                                                  like a life out of leven

                                                                                  he's with me on this
                                                                                  and insisted early

                                                                                  in the azaleas' blaze take my triumph
                                                                                  he sumphed it rudely in crystal evenings
                                                                                  and cocktail dresses in all weathers
                                                                                  he's my eodolite
                                                                                  in white shorts finery

                                                                                  ansen in front of you
                                                                                  it’s a golden flee and bachelor mode

                                                                                  hey sister

                                                                                  need children
                                                                                  relative straight
                                                                                  so proformed
                                                                                  little blead
                                                                                  airing him up

                                                                                  what's the pity he thinks
                                                                                  is boy is doorhatch
                                                                                  with cash in ideal situwoney

                                                                                  I like that lie in the voice
                                                                                  a nothing in its time

                                                                                  honey was a lemon
                                                                                  he was dancing score

                                                                                  a lone husband
                                                                                  a pale husband
                                                                                  dwells distinguished in his every cloke
                                                                                  bag it

                                                                                  though if you don’t do this as an about turn
                                                                                  where else can you go
                                                                                  is that question to anyone but me

                                                                                  what have I lost
                                                                                  in the lie in the voice
                                                                                  a dip in the memory

                                                                                  and so it goes
                                                                                  icily round

                                                                                  I sigh for
                                                                                  a sake
                                                                                  tackle tiding me down

                                                                                  arise to
                                                                                  should do

                                                                                  and whether
                                                                                  images have to do with
                                                                                  an ending

                                                                                  let me imagine
                                                                                  do you invision
                                                                                  female characterization invasion

                                                                                  I better be acted
                                                                                  to tears in his mourishment
                                                                                  not for long
                                                                                  the beach verandah making a                                                                                   muttersplash
                                                                                  all my ways are passing
                                                                                  came sorted prayed

                                                                                  blind distracted to myself

                                                                                  I thought you might be able to pull up
                                                                                  the middle leg
                                                                                  of the bed

                                                                                  folds out

                                                                                  packs his briefcase
                                                                                  sharps and glasses on
                                                                                  home about twelve o clock
                                                                                  and goes

                                                                                  his hand his height in springs
                                                                                  heed of mind walking on
                                                                                  his mood
                                                                                  of everything
                                                                                  smelled panic in me
                                                                                  I instance
                                                                                  what corpseflavor
                                                                                  was thought today

                                                                                  what do you want of me
                                                                                  I don't want your apparition
                                                                                  like I used to
                                                                                  no but you have to be there

                                                                                  on the edge
                                                                                  on the thrash
                                                                                  of night
                                                                                  in the corncrib
                                                                                  making golden honey
                                                                                  I can tell
                                                                                  lamenting like the bees
                                                                                  in the hair of my house
                                                                                  stop kissing
                                                                                  the word
                                                                                  a stary story
                                                                                  all on eggs
                                                                                  beneath the pile

                                                                                  a baby is an easy word to say
                                                                                  it’s a hard eared basket case


Medea's red

                                                                                  so energealous
                                                                                  pique my dary cup
                                   use milk cascading
                                                                                  don't be delicious

                                                                                  down pent
                                                                                  gruesome arms
                                                                                  wet bark
                                                                                  for all the waterrush
                                                                                  I've known hissing down
                                                                                  dayweights washing
                                                                                  truncated bedfeeling
                                                                                  me abound in clay
                                                                                  in loveled marring
                                                                                  piled him high
                                                                                  and other liquids
                                                                                  kindness wood
                                                                                  bowing spray
                                                                                  and out came
                                                                                  it away
                                                                                  and when not
                                                                                  in other colors
                                                                                  imagered forged lurking
                                                                                  ground with vestige
                                                                                  shame's black blush wings
                                                                                  blood rose mockingbird
                                                                                  cardinal squatted squarely while
                                                                                  dog I love roserot
                                                                                  redflower she gainsayed
                                                                                  weave back in
                                                                                  slip o so
                                                                                  people red
                                                                                  a sparrow's anger
                                                                                  entry into mouth
                                                                                  a little farther
                                                                                  hangs a running
                                                                                  what she heave
                                                                                  what she clodred
                                                                                  the next woman
                                                                                  tear in pieces
                                                                                  and apple
                                                                                  rent not owned
                                                                                  run me down
                                                                                  all over
                                                                                  suck me white
                                                                                  wincing like a robin
                                                                                  fluttered to torture
                                                                                  the boy about food
                                                                                  I've seen it all
                                                                                  what step

                                                                                  there's some inside houses
                                                                                  some inside parts
                                                                                  some out of headmates
                                                                                  that give might

                                                                                  a place a skin
                                                                                  a letdown
                                                                                  a baby softening
                                                                                  how could the child
                                                                                  be so liquid

                            she gave birth because
                                                   fun and will
                                              and little head
                            peeping out it's a blast

                                                                                  it's my
                                                                                  heart crushing slander

                                                      Medea said

      if it's not true how d'you know so
                                              much about it

                                                                                  it was told

                                                      Medea said

                                                                                  that was the color of the morning
                                                                                  and I do what I do

                                                                                  a headhold
                                                                                  a honeyleap
                                                                                  a dinner