‘birds’

i wore a bird as a metaphor,

i was a bird as a metaphor,

i wore a bird, the feathers trembled at my wrists,

i could not tell if i had chosen it,

i was rare, hooked bird by evening,

once more passerine come morning,

and all their bodies glazed and limp,

and all their bodies, raised by me,

i learnt something very young,

birds stand for everything,

i love birds so completely it occludes birds,

i keep them safely sealed in cupboards,

i have fluttering intimations of this being wrong,

but without birds,

how could i feel like the idea of one

Between Floors

Between floors, my dentist

offered me a smoke

and said it would not kill me here.

He was a hologram,

the unportentous theme-park sort,

and I felt reassured.

I took a drag and coughed

a little, spat a gust of smoke

and shocked-lung spittle

at the lift’s gold mirror. I said,

I missed the sun.

By which I meant, I missed

that slender interlude in time

when sun was neither

god nor threat.

My dentist gestured

at the gentle lamps, mouth

flickering, offering to jam us here,

where the doors wouldn’t open.

I felt frightened,

but he lit a Viceroy,

flashed his even teeth

and snickered. Oh come now,

things won’t be any different.

_____________

Rachel Piercey is a poet, editor and tutor, who writes for adults and children. Her latest

pamphlet, Disappointing Alice, was published by HappenStance in 2019. She is co-host of

The Whole Story, a monthly poetry, prose and music night at The Poetry Café, London.

@RachelPoet @TheWholeStoryCG