Through the Skylight by Deborah Swain

Cover art by Lucienne Dorrance

24 pp., 2003

 

 

Through the Skylight

 

Through the skylight

in a slate roof

slick with rain—

the bright blob

of a shade-less bulb

blotches my retinas

with its phosphorescent echo.

I steer it across

the inside of my eyelids,

chasing its elusive colours,

but cannot blink it away.

Like a film

I project it over

the blind stare of the house

& light up the windows

of each deserted room—

a mischievous ghost

flicking on switches,

mimicking lifetime habits.

 

The garden backs onto ours.

Pink roses drop

petals on the lawn.

 

 

Toast

 

Making love

then making toast

one Sunday morning

they caught a glimpse of

other people,

rather like themselves,

long before

they got to know each other

intimately.

 

 

The Eggshell Blue Room

 

The locked bedroom

was painted the colour

of a magpie’s clutch

—a speckled eggshell blue.

The night he pounded

his head against walls

built of brick

he really believed

he would smash his way

through delicate chalky tissue

& find only glutinous goo

the other side.

Then he’d swim his escape!

 

They found him

the next morning

in the eggshell blue room

—speckled red.

He had smashed a way out

of sorts.