The Friday Poem on 05/04/2024
We’re primed to respond to murder mystery these days. So when this poem opens with a death – even a death-that-isn’t – there’s an instant frisson. That “hollow body”, headless and footless, is haunting. Its feeling for the “impulsive mortal” (instead of the other way around) grabs attention. A neat thread of sound echoes (blind / spine / minor/ widened / Tynemouth / inside / skin), and perfect pacing, make this unusually satisfying.
Wetsuit
The hollow body hangs
in the cupboard under the stairs
headless hands and feet
detached on a low shelf
blind zip for a spine –
a punished minor deity
condemned to unseen longing
for the impulsive mortal
whose senses were widened
by a glassy sea at Tynemouth
whose pulse now slows and quickens
inside a different skin.
