One day I woke up and all the similes were gone, by Ashleigh Young

By Ashleigh Young In Poetry

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31st January, 2013 Leave a Comment

Because the vase is orange, my mother banishes it from the lounge.
Because the lemons are green, that lone yellow one is a clown.
Because the story is unwritten, it raises its hackles when I try
to extract it from a pair of pants on the washing line.
Because the light still shines, a bird sounds from the tree
but the tree won’t let the bird go; it is too cold.
Because my mother worked for months on the garden, the squirrels
sprint along the fence and drop efficiently into the garden
those f—ing squirrels,
because Nature no longer understands the point of a garden.
Because a woman runs out of our house in an apron
shrieking, shooing her arms off her body.
Because I wake up, nothing can ever be described again.
There is no wind picking up and no water running,
all the elements have lost their limbs;
the tame sheep that I had raised from birth
headbutts me when I crouch in the paddock,
because it no longer understands the point of me, or it does,
and prefers to be free:
My lungs go into reverse and I mushroom out in the grass.
An airplane shaves strips from the whiskerous sky.
I don’t recognise it any more, and I cry.

31st January, 2013 Leave a Comment

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