Anna Nightingale – 2 poems 

April

 

There is a place in Lisbon where you can see an imitation statue of Christ the Redeemer, Rio de Janeiro, and a bridge similar to The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

 

This moment is nostalgia

before nostalgia is:

lurking at the shore

of my premature thoughts. I’m gazing

at myself through gauze & taking

these gills & thrills & you for granted.

My worship ship was sinking and I capsized

it:

sat by a river

that disregarded

the neaps

and springs of

us.

Shoures soote only there –

months are not cruel, but me

I am a drought, drowned

in the unholy waters of Leman.

There was water so I did stop and drink

and by the rock I could not stop or think.

An alcoholic tongue:

a thing we’d never done.

The redeemer glares & my justification?

It’s not so simple

as rosaries and recitation.

The gate is gilded & these years are

something like such imitations.

 

🍃

 

If My Brain Were Spain

 

Exoticise my mind

like a language you’re hungry to learn

       its poli tics are a broken tongue –

and you like the validation it feeds you.

 

Move in there

and publicise it.

It is your neuro- bureau.

Let the confession echo, through that windowless hollow

to which

dragged you,

Without realising

I’m now trapped too. 

 

🍃

 

Anna Nightingale is from Coventry, UK and studies English at the University of Cambridge.

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