claire-bircher
English
Hello, I always struggle with bios, I shall dive right in, I'm a jewellery maker, mum of 4, wife of power geek who breeds wires, a little mad, good mad, apt to bite off more than I can chew, lover of SciFi, british comedy, raspberries and nicotine, coffee, marmite and various other things. Reader of contemporary poets when I get the time, one of my favourites being Jennifer Conley who also lives in my hometown (if you don't know her work, you must). Not much else, erm, will add more if I think of it. Thanks for visiting :) x.
I fell of a pavement curb once.
I was a tightrope walker with an audience of thousands;
I could smell damp straw and hear the gasps as I lost my footing.
Girls threw their hands to their faces
and relinquished their eyesight to their boyfriend’s shoulders,
who took the opportunity for a shifty *****
My chin split and the blood didn’t show up on the red dress
but the audience had gone.
I can still put my finger in the hole, see?
Even now, 30 years later.
The tip of my index finger goes right down to the bone,
missing muscular structure,
and it makes me think of a skull with a cleft chin,
kinda how Kirk Douglas will look given a few years of grave time.
If I wiggle the finger in a circular motion it makes me wince,
something about gristle, gristle makes me wince,
even the word, a sensation of chewing wool.
It was never fixed.
My jaw clicks on the right side and, just this one time,
I yawned and couldn’t shut my mouth.
Blind panic lassoed my heart and yanked it into my throat,
perhaps it was even visible.
The longest 10 seconds of my life in which I spent a night in hospital,
sat up in bed, howling through my wide open gob.
How would I drink tea?
I don’t yawn properly now, I do little demi-yawns,
too terrified of the consequences of Open Gob.
How would I smoke?
I used to wonder why it was never fixed.
Why wasn’t I taken to hospital
and given stitches and x-rays and pain killers?
I worked that out when I was older.
It could easily have been a fist.
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 12:21 PM UTC
White striations stack up on skin
neatly horizontal parallel lines,
your corrugated left arm that bears witness
to a right handed brain and I'd
forgotten that as I see you, as you see me,
and I didn't know you'd kept a piece of me.
How could I have known that you'd be casual,
twirling that piece around your index finger,
slinging it over your shoulder as a summer jacket,
not needed for warmth, or that I'd feel it.
There's a tattoo on my **** that used to spell out your name,
and now I wonder if you can still picture it.
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 2:21 AM UTC
You said this,
that I gave more than you wanted
that I surrounded you,
smothered you with plumped up pillows
and forced you into swaddling clothes,
too tight for a grown man.
You were wrong.
And now I wear bedsocks to stave off a chill that
has nothing to do with barometric pressure,
mocked by a too big duvet in an aftershave scented bed.
I take my usual route and stare at the downturned faces
of busy people who don’t wish to look my way,
no matter, they haven’t realised how special I am.
I’m here to win you back.
I’ll come at you with perfumed cards.
Accost you with sugary tokens.
Stab at you with flowered stems.
Your letterbox is your eyes and ears
and I’m jamming myself into it,
waiting for you to come home.
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
He downloads an app
"how to please a woman"
it's all ********* and rutting...
nowhere does it say
"make a brew now and then"
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
Pick up teeth from the carpet,
hide under eggshells in the bin,
cancel the appointment with the dentist.
Mop blood from the lino,
straggles of cloth sprawl in pink water,
scrub the memory with bleach.
Ask the girl at the counter
which foundation is best for a blemish,
get it home and sponge over bruises.
Catch the reflection crying
preen her til she’s quiet,
gag with flowers freshly arranged.
Smile on the school run
pretend the kids are happy,
(she thinks it's the reason she stays).
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 7:40 AM UTC
I’ll believe anything as long as it’s a lie
if I see a flash of falsehood
if you stumble over words that are freshly made up
if you wring your hands, play with your cuffs
impossibly arch those deep woven brows
I’ll be ****** in
compliant
desperately gullible
I’ll skulk around after you
forgive reprehensible actions
and just say “awww”
I’ll treat you like a god,
even better,
I need that **********
control from a higher being
I’ll worship you
make sacrifice
virginity, purity
body and soul
and then suddenly I’m at your door with a dead cat
and you’re wondering if it’s worth it.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
In crumpled clothes I find you,
origami man,
folded into crevices
no longer big enough
for your limbs to disappear
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
Smooth metallic spoons in coffee
stir in time in rhythm,
ever blend form together
concave in a drawer.
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 11:27 AM UTC
I can't write my feelings for him.
The word love was struck from my dictionary long ago
angry grey pencil, so fierce goes through the paper
and leaves a ghost on the entries
"luff" through "lugger"on the facing page;
the next entry unscathed is "lugubrious".
Figures.
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
Each day she pokes through the soil
wearing moss coloured clothes
and twigs in her hair,
then the wailing starts;
she doesn’t want to be grown.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC