Juliet Wilson

Inconceivable

To have conceived in that amazing, blissful oneness,
assaulted by endorphins as I was,
a miracle indeed, but one that I have never
wanted, planned or otherwise.
It's not responsibility I run from,
but guilt at further overburdening this poor,
sad overburdened earth of ours.
So take no chances, there is no place
for this life inside me (if indeed it's there).
Get rid of it. No debate.

Overwhelming, sickly nausea, threatening
to engulf relief I should be feeling.
I think of the rainforests dying
and know no child of mine will ever die
when fires and floods destroy our land
or the armies of the dispossessed
come baying for our blood.
I took no chances, there is no place
for any child of mine upon this dying earth.

Yet I am haunted by the sense of loss I carry.

 

Major New Artist

I have spent the last six
years with incense sticks
burning holes in shirts.

Shirts of all types
from Hawaiian to pin stripes
but all have holes burned in.

All the holes are regular
extreme boredom does not deter
me from my art.

Some see meaning in the holes
they are but fools
there is no meaning only art.