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.