A new poem by Christchurch poet Chris Stewart.
my psychologist said we are always drowning
today I saw some signs
sacrificed my son to save my brother
tolerated cold hymns that tickled the silence of time
I swallowed a baby like a cot
confessed that language bent my mind
when I looked down your throat
fire crackled in your belly
outside snow covered everything
we sat on our layer of moss
elm trees crispened around us
diamonds glistened in the branches
every minute stole a piece of us
The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed.
