Gathering by Alisha Brown
Gathering
i. Gathering
Collard stems bow
to the practised crack of his wrists
a neck-wringing crunch
a twist of ecstatic liberation
from the stock. Leaves lie
breathless in a pile
to his left, brimming in awe
cells oxidising in a sudden morphic
rush as though
exalted from the sea’s navy depths
into midday sun. Blinking.
I wipe a bug from my eye.
He speaks
something to me
in a key I recognise. Mmm,
I say, completing the cadence
watching those hands in communion
feeling something green and nameless
evaporate in slow tendrils
from the fleshy wound at the stem’s hilt.
ii. Three little birds
Grief is a tiny thing.
He taps at my window
and I toss crumbs of cornbread
to settle like crimescene evidence
across the balcony.
Do you remember
when you held me?
I fold myself
into kitchen counter fingerprints
and incidental imprints,
precious points of intersection
between your skin
and substance.
I’m jealous of the threads
caught in your crochet blanket.
Let me lean on you this way,
tangled limbs cinched tight
to your chest.
Let me lace myself
to the parts of you
that hum
as they desiccate.
We can sit on the rooftop together
and watch your homecoming.
Grief, that sparrow.
That tiny thing.
I close my eyes
and squint into the vastness.
iii. A glimpse
sometimes
I wonder
if these tiny
moments shrink
in fear before
they fade / the
whipcurl of
a cheek in
laughter / soap
bubbles that cling
milkily to the
shape of an
orb even
as they pop / how
to hold the
ephemeral / how
to love the
dying with as
much eagerness
as the dead /
shadows change
on the grevillia shrub
and we cradle
them there / the
sun and
my soft sorrow
iv. Liminal
We meet
occasionally
in the silence when the fishing bells ring
at the rockbeds where they found you
with a whisper as the stylus hits the groove.
Oh Daddy,
you soothe me with your smile.
I’m eight years old
and I ask you to show me,
although I know how.
Wind the reel, watch your step,
lower the needle.
We recite our scripts
and nod along.
Familiarity is a warm clay
on the face
and you show yourself to me
as those muddy palms.
Find more from Alisha over on her Instagram.
