Lucy Holme

Two Poems


Burrida de Raya

There is inevitability to this imagery. A dull pang
like the first tremulous sign of labour, or the feeling
of having shared too much too soon. A crow on a car
bonnet crushing a flower in its talons; two churches,
a neat kilometre apart. I measured it. Listened hard
as the Basque summer ushered in its stun of warm rain.
What is the emblem for that month? A skate wing
translucent in broth. Txakoli, sharp green and livid.
An egg white chain clinging to a fork prong.
We were supposed to remember that meal forever, but
the pull of the mountains was churning us into thin air,
wringing balance – all that uncooked oblivion –
the fumbling with idioms and unpacking of faith.
Your face enshrined by sorrow, a dimly felt relic.


Papyrus Rolls

She dressed quickly / taking care / to look casually arranged / like this
was an ordinary / every day occurrence / this flushed state / neurons
thrumming /                                                             the knowledge she was
leaving / with a person                                                     /            with whom
she had / this unavoidable                        connection –
but no real idea / how she had arrived / at this point /
it felt as though / the past few weeks / she had observed / from a distance /
the furtive and illogical actions / of somebody quite different / from herself /
a woman / taken completely over by desire / every time / she stroked
her phone /                                or fell asleep / with its hard shell / cradled into her
shoulder blade / warm clavicle /                         the exquisite vibration /
anxious not to miss /                        one douceur /               /one summons
/one cryptic clue /               a realisation / she no longer
had any control /              over her actions / and lived with a constant dread / that her
every move / would arouse suspicion /       that each quiet walk or dash into town
to buy groceries for the family                                  would prompt / the townsfolk /
to ask themselves why / to gossip in shop doorways / who was it / who did she meet /
at dusk / what was really going on /            but the absence of guilt /      about all
of this subterfuge / the ache she felt /           along with a kind / of self approbation
new and unfamiliar to her /                                was the most bizarre aspect of it all /
this was living /               she thought /                                                     she was living.





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