Utterance - Samantha Bews

Heartwood Massage

for Bridie

 

the hands are listening

the table is listening

the room is listening

the air is making way

 

my shoes are quiet

my belt loosed

my socks’ wrinkled faces 

have been rolled away

 

now is the time for flowers to speak

gladness trembles

fragility is silly with glee

tininess is smallness is this day

 

what does colour whisper?

what transgressive language scent?

the one and the many together

how do they speak?

 

now I am as poor

as the lilies

and held in this

flowering field. 

​

 

breath for breath