Wednesday, October 17, 2012

A Poem by Tamara Simpson

The Bar

On aerial planes
I turn,
silver heels slashing the wrist
of land before the ocean
and the sand.

My dear, your eyes are moons
as they watch me
dance and pivot.
Such an external change!
You must think me possessed.
But it's not my demons
who make me dance.

I offer you my hand, smiles
dripping from my fingers.
They close on air;
you step away,
shaking your head.

I stumble, but raise
my hands valiantly
to the stars, refusing to fall,
to fall.

I dress my pain
in the swelling gowns
of euphoria. All I want now
Is to escape you

All I want
is to be free.

The wind murmurs brilliantly,
sadly. I turn from it,
salt-water flecks my cheek.
not mine.

The tide changes;
nothing I can say
will prevent it. Perhaps
if you had danced with me!

The moon recedes;
my bare feet
sink coldly
into the quickening sand.
Tamara Simpson is a current student University of Western Australia who spends most of her time writing poetry and fiction when she should be studying. She has had previous work published in the Road Not Taken Journal of Formal Poetry, Every Day Poets Magazine, and Open Minds Quarterly.

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