Damian Mangat
Staff writer
Moringa seed oil, my grandmother’s lotion,
Infused oolong tea, a Sunday devotion.
A locket clasped with my aged cat’s fur,
prickly tongue, Cheshire provocateur.
Snow bleaching Marlboro ashes, sculpting
The bristled chins of men. Erupting
A sneeze of book dust shelved beyond reach
vindicated by ghosts among the leaves.
Velvet collars in Dartmouth green
That sweep the skin in-between
My secret parts like feather and quill.
Stiff peaked macaroons, and daffodils
junctures of time blown cross my palm
Symbols of Islam and mantric ashrams
The monastic orders and giving of alms
my protestant vicar reciting the psalms
on Sundays. Sweeping moths from frost –
Brooke, Blake the spoils of pathos,
Wilbur Lucius Cross to muse beguile
Creation. Candles mould his profile.
Wax scented with gardenia reeds
Fragrances my lambswool coat. Eve,
in page boy cap, ducking mudslush clumps
A clucking squirrel, and sugarplums
The suction of windchimes. Turtlenecks
Him, a birth scar, a hunt-and-peck
His lips, my lips a moody foreplay
A cobalt night and chardonnay
Cobblestone slick beneath my feet
Swelling monsoon tides when sleet
Melts. Curtain calls, arriving late
Laughing lines into my fate.
Kaleidoscopes of memory found
Gooseberry jam and merry-go-rounds.
Trinkets, baubles and bindertwine
Gypsies sharing elderberry wine
Saint Christopher in silver-lined cloak
The Scarlet trappings of womenfolk
Where human nature manifests.
And Nature nurses eagles’ nests.
Evergreen quills as sharp as my pen
Shakespeare seized by Rodin bookends.
The oceans’ moods in indigo ink
spiritsailing history when I think
of these I have loved.
