303

The Soul selects her own Society—
Then—shuts the Door—
To her divine Majority—
Present no more—

Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pausing—
At her low Gate—
Unmoved—an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat—

I’ve known her—from an ample nation—
Choose One—
Then—close the Valves of her attention—
Like Stone—

daytime rhythms
of coming and
going


a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge


out the door
in the car
to the place


there


twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter

​
hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock
​

and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock


a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side
​

then
out the door
in the car
to the place
​

for something quick
to have for dinner
​

then
​

home
​



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

love
aghast
at its own
separation


curds from
whey
drifting
up into
unshapely
neglected
kernels

​
drifting up to
a wide distance
in their broth
of once-
togetherness


weeping
energy
like a
milky
wound

​
expectations
of gushing
romance
seep out
and down
​

sunk to the
bottom
​

to never
feel
alone
​

to never
feel
lost
​

to never
feel
grown
or
responsible
for it all


sunk right down
to the
bottom
​

buoyancy
independent
rising up


I take care
of my
self


alone
purposeless
drifter
bulbous
love nugget

​


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

I would rather
be a
wanderer
a belongerer
to no body
to no country
a loose end

​
than to bob
eagerly
at every tug
of the yarn's
end
whose
wound-up
mass
amasses me
a wriggled up
ball of
wriggles
​

I would rather
be alone
than
scooped up
in a basket
with others
of my
supposed
ilk
and held in
by the
over-under
wicker
edges
domed up
for containment
​

ominous
clicks and
scrapes
of my
destiny
clattering
and chattering
above
​

fraying
frizzled
frazzled bits
smoothing out
as my length
is tugged
up and up
like a long
slurpy
noodle
​

I would rather
be loose
and scrappy
and stumpy
and ragged
the one that
nobody loves
the discarded
refuse of a
more discerning
eye
​

than be made
surreptitiously
into somebody
else's
jumper




© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

I took two totems
and held them to
myself
one in my right pocket
and one in my left
for clenching
tight in reminder
while walking about
of what's really
important
​

a brass bull
keychain strung
to the keys
that opened my home
and made it mine
​
​
for prosperity
and material health
and weighing down
to the ground
​
​
and a little hunk
of lapis lazuli
speckled through
with golden
glitters
​

for keeping
bright blue and
buoyant
my spirit


the bull broke off
its chain and
left a dangling void
a superfluous
jangle
wiggling on old
keys turned in
to an old landlord


the stone
slipped out of my
jacket pocket
in a cab to the
airport to a plane
to the other side
of the world
​

now of my totems
but a short refrain
and a
memory's glitter
remain
​



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

a polkadotted
napkin
full of problems
tied to a stick
slung across
my shoulder

strutting
stubbornly
from one place
to another

never questioning
why I bother
meandering
all over

a runaway
to sunny beaches
gloomy cities
far off reaches
of far earth

with stars poured
in my eyes
and hard-earned
pennies in
my purse

hoping that
this time will
be different

it couldn't
be worse

?


©2018 Adelaide Heathfield

sweet tree
raised from
tropical
earth

to grow upright
and out
to sprout
from trunk
a bunch of
pink and
pointed pods

or perhaps
crimson or
yellow
aubergine
tangerine
green

scythed clean
from host
and hacked
in two
for getting at
seeds a-pulp
in white
and slimed

and spreading
them out under
the sun
to get hot
in their own
juices

to ferment
wild

to bake
dry

poured tinkling
by the
thousands into
sacks of hessian
for sending
‘cross seas

to furnace-cracked
futures
winnied and
conched
sweetened
melted
and hardened
into shapes
of other things


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield