ArtView January 2016 - Page 50

Poetry: Mark Tredinnick All Our Days For Sarah-Jo The year is stuck in traffic near its close, And the day has all of elsewhere in her eyes. Though familiar voices from the back seat Cry out for me to turn, now there is no UTurn I would ever make. And every billboard broadCasts the same news: we have become, my love, All of a sudden, each other’s lives, and the morning Stands and opens her hands and raises her brows And smiles down all the beatitudes and bad Attitudes she can fashion out of joy on us. And If the morning does not say what took you both So long? it’s only because she’s polite and out of breath: For the better part of forever she’s been keeping us A secret in fields and streams and riverbeds and lovers’ Mouths and clubs and pubs and villages. Instead, day says: Take each other like the way you’d meant to go. She says: Figtree, like a kindergarten of shadows; she says Flame tree, like an overplayed hand; pelicans Like Cadillacs, and an egret like a woman Way too good for me, dancing the drainage ditch Back into the swamp; morning says, November, Like Saturn on sabbatical, bright as the inner Life of darkness, blue as the intrigue You wake in my eyes, my love, taking it nice And easy all the way along the very Edge of all of our days to come.