2 poems by Blossom Hibbert

Accidental sightings after I buy a carton of orange juice in Eyupsultan

You sit there. I sit

here. My mouth on the sparrow’s throat. One young

boy in a velvet suit smiles, the

child roller skating falls flush with the polished

marble square. Everybody plumps around chewing or

yapping and I find it all absolutely awful. One girl, the height of a

window – runs in her

tutu into the tonsils of the

mosque and her father does not dare

retrieve her. Blue eyed children

holding even bluer eyed children. The fountains are

not crying they are

praying with deep

never ending eyes - retinas full of

locals. I spit my cherry bones out

clot coloured and order the best

kahve. The violet sunset stretches out beside

a boulder, runs her fingers

through my unwashed hair

behind my sunburnt ears and kisses my

frightened forehead. No handsome horse

trots over wide cobbles. I could

hurt anyone with blue eyes, if they expect me

to come back.

Everyone around me playing cards and I am drinking beer in a yellow jumper

for Alan Baker

Wondering if i still look like a quiet

port at midnight or if I am perhaps a little

more dangerous now. The fence, humming his

own advertisement jingle and some whore’s

belly full up on vegetables and fish. How much

for a room tonight, why can’t you make beer flow

from the taps? I see the lampshade over

the moon, his cigarette dripping ash and glitter. Struggle to

understand why they put us on a world that can

not stop turning and expects us to stay so very

still. The blue eyed children of the village are taking a hot

bath; shoulder blades wet knowing

mother will be here soon. I cannot reach my own;

damp from the long journey, and this is how it gets

being so old and so alone, nothing but a car of

unwritten poetry and sunflower seeds for company.

_______________

Blossom Hibbert is a poet from Manchester. She likes stairs and cheese sandwiches with ready salted crisps inside