Lesley Quayle

 

 

 

A Woman Who Writes

A woman who writes feels too much. Anne Sexton

There’s a price to pay,
always trying to outstare the sun and not go blind.
This handful of words, skin peeled from flesh,
spreads out like a stain, is the genie loosed from your heart.

You spotlight life or death
but the passion is never simple, you are as inward
and as outward as a maze, your voyages smash
against the stars or slip beneath rolling oceans.

It’s a strange house you live in,
not hostile, full of embryos and ghosts,
where men and children, food and dust,
the friendly, confessional company of women,
are not enough     –      are much too much.
Each day breaks over you with startling light,
nights clasp you in their shuddering dark.

You are chameleon, the invisible eavesdropper,
hearing the breath beneath whispers as bombs or choirs.
Fill your ears with lead, your mouth with salt,
cast out your eyes – you still feel too much.

 

 

 

Lesley Quayle is a prizewinning poet and a folk/blues singer currently living in Dorset. She has a collection (Sessions – Indigo Dreams) and a chapbook (Songs For Lesser Gods – erbacce) and is currently working on another collection and her first novel.

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