Flutter by Brian Turner

1 Mar 2011

Memory's memory flutters in the attic,
scrabbles, looks for a way out
into the radiant open air, wants to fly off
wings edged in gold, feathers ruffled
by the breath of the Gods.

In the meantime this summertime
your memory of others is hazy,
random, like seeds scattered
from a pod snapped by the heart
and force of sun and wind.

It's hard to carry loads of grief
in the summertime, the freight of
dead stars consigned to sidings
in vacant corners of the sky
where the wagons are hidden away

like the souls of those who can't
or don't want to remember what happened
to the sheets of happiness
stained by hurt and whatever else
is in the lap of the Gods.

From Just This (page 104) by Brian Turner.
Published by Victoria University Press.
Used with the permission of Victoria University Press.

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