Helen Pletts
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the plane tree entertains the circus of doves Stripped of spindly epicormic shoots, the now-knuckle-tree jabs her skeletal arms over the snapped stale breaths of pale, orange shavings powdering the tree surgeon’s yellow truck. Her psoriatic plane-bones arthrite in the grey sky. Knotted; hunched naked like the great distorted central pole of a marquee. Feather me, she says. Don’t leave me open-necked up-holding this soft circus. Perched in the flaking gnarl the little skull-caps are grey with it too. They dot her fleshlessness with incredulous brows. Tremble at the amplified sirens of daysound. Blink bright as part of the canopy of constellations later on in the dark. ** This was first published at Ink, Sweat, and Tears. ** the motherless club The world. The world without my mother became Sasha. Born the year my mother died, three days before my mother’s birthday. White socks, in the dark, across my bed. Cinderella-paw. Ukrainian-orphan: this is a motherless club. No dogs on the bed, you said. You are the duvet Sasha, the warm fur-generator. The gerbil-smell. The hall light spreads into a bearable Netflix-night of K-dramas; where the lovers take many moments to close off the world as their eyes meet, it’s snowing and they suddenly notice the snow in their smiles and the song is a single voice and it’s lost in heartbreak, ages, melancholy guitars. And your flag-ears raise as I get up to use the toilet. And fall back into the sides of your head with my sighs. ** This poem was first published at Ink, Sweat, and Tears. ** greyhound In the thin rain, the theatrical frame of a greyhound; a slip of grey felt shrug on the weathering ribs, emblazoned with a voluminous pale pink shiver of ballerina. Was it you who tied these shimmering loops on the back of this withering beast, beset with a neater twist than neat becomes? You, beak-faced, in that turtle-tail raincoat, absorbed in the black-through-wet-path, the tender rhythm of the mottled haunches, the close wash of tyres against the small ears, the sticklet-thin-to-knee-to clip-nail on the paving. Animal heart beating. ** This poem was first published at Ink, Sweat, and Tears. ** my father is on the waiting list for a heart operation there is talk of the failing fleshy threads the same design that might attach a mermaid’s purse at the corners these skinny anchors a developmental catastrophe without the security of a knot the valuable skin its sprung significance a heart-string i imagine weary shoelaces attached to the open gills of a floating red sponge suspended between purple lungs above a liver shot through with crimson we can only dream it into aspic-stillness weightless until it can be fixed ** the laughter of rats I know the ultrasound of rats; barefoot hostages of Science that must assist me. They and I sigh, fix a stare on a white wall and wonder. I'm telling you, they make a noise, it's different - through the recorder I hear them together, this noise they share, these note-squeaks; peek-octaves of joy outside my frequency. We forget, you see, that we are testing life, laboratory ears are deaf to your happy-sound when you've food, friends, and I tickle you and you show me your brute yellow pegs, that must sink into brick, or 10cm-thick concrete, gnaw down thirteen centimetres annual spurt. I curl my mouth into a smile over a thousand times a day, weave a thin white grin across the monitors, nobody marvels at me; white-coat human-automaton. Hand in glove I tickle you and test Darwin's premise - that children only scream when tickled by a stranger - rat child, my rat child, I tickle your back and light up your head with wires; hideous Christmas tree hats. ** This poem won second place at The Plaza Prose Poetry Prize 2022-23, and was published in their prizewinners anthology. ** badger-mother i have let the lawn run long for you little fur run long into green disordered spires for the dusty moths that share your night air waver wings and thorax—above your heart—settle and start into patches of electric light above the handfuls of peanuts and the water bowl’s rim caught-crescent you white-appear starving litter-runt i will feed you now clay dust diminishing the snails and slugs that your new teeth sprung from the home-sett would eat ** Helen Pletts: (www.helenpletts.com) is a UK poet, who has also lived some of her life in the Czech Republic. Many of her poems are illustrated by graphic artist Romit Berger and some collaborative words and images can be seen on www.inksweatandtears.co.uk. Helen’s poetry was shortlisted four times for Bridport Poetry Prize 2018, 2019, 2022 and 2023, twice longlisted for The Rialto Nature & Place Competition 2018 and 2022, longlisted for the Ginkgo Prize 2019, longlisted for The National Poetry Competition 2022. She was second prize winner in The Plaza Prose Poetry Prize 2022-2023. |
