Tuesday Poem - how long until the accident? by Helen Lehndorf

how long until the accident?

When I move to the new house will I be a better person?

We are leaving behind the placenta under the kowhai tree,

and the kowhai tree. I hate myself for caring what happens

to that tree. Hullo, hullo, I have to go. People don't write

letters any more, they send pixellated kisses. In today's news,

Finn broke his ankle again, says he has weak ankles.

More likely it is the stairs he falls down when he's drunk.

Scandal, scandal birthday candle.

He suggests a movie where 'there is no hugging and nobody

learns anything.' I will see if I can bend the hinge of family

enough to be let out. Smothered. Sfathered.

Starting to finally leave, to stare out windows to the south

of the city. Words/deeds. There are real birds and cd birds.

There is real rain and radio rain. When I move to the new house

what if I end up in flames? Not arson. Spontaneous.

It'll do, in the Manawatu. In the new house, I learn the weight

of the key, the contours of the lock. Mind that step,

it wobbles. I take my first drink of water from the tap, baptism.

His cupboard sticks. Place things on shelves gingerly,

like the house might shake them off. Watch your step.

I came upon two of Helen's poems in the new Poetry NZ. I really like them,
so intimate and playful. I will post the second poem soon.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Helen-Lehndorf/220615784632554