Three Poems After Andy Kehoe, by Angela Costi

Worlds Apart, by Andy Kehoe, (USA) 2016. Click image for artist site.

After the Land Quaked in Half
                       
for artist, Andy Kehoe, who pours layers of resin to make Worlds Apart 
 
resin I  
                                                                                                                                          
Trees remain standing as soldiers once did 
thrusting forward their chests waiting in line for the bullet
they sing of death with their scorched trunks  
skewered branches and fallen leaves with no verdant memories 
 
skin barely coats our bone
stomach whittles to stone 
body overwhelms the lyric
no bird or priest to mimic    
 
We crank up this liturgical dirge   
when stomping out embers refusing to die 
foraging for charred edibles
training our minds to stop craving a shower
 
resin II   
                                                                                                                                        
Noise is on our side as it is on theirs 
a bewildering howl from space 
concrete steel glass aluminum bitumen 
quaked into a gulf of infinite falling 
 
we cannot offer a song for the sodden
 
While our limbs drown in a sewer of thunder
our hunger is swallowed by tides 
trenches brim with our drenched creatures 
mopping houses into endless gorges 
 
resin III
 
After anger melts to sadness 
              After promises vanquish into madness
 
we nominate the strongest and most verbal 
              to stand at the edge  
 
our hero wears a cloak of seared cat 
              our hero wears a coat of nervous deer
 
spears blunt words at the brink of crematoria
             bellows our downfall to soured gases 
 
happy we don’t own your angry ocean
              sad we don’t own your flashing light 
 
our hero extends a soaked hand
                                           too far away 
                                                           for touch 
 
resin IV

Across the gulf they each bow 
as clouds from their side tackle clouds from our side
as air spews a downpour then blows a haze of smoke
they meet each other’s gaze
in middle distance where blue and red 
plummet into the guilty grey chasm
of no ground 
to burn
no sea 
to drown 
and
nothing more 
to 
lose
 

Together in the Maelstrom, by Andy Kehoe (USA) 2016

​Inclement 
​
most days are broken into  
layers of hello and goodbye 
 
some get more than murky 
an awkward reach for her hand
 
no words are required when
the room is full of galaxy 
            
see how your manager looms 
in the shape of hungry storm 
 
bodies secrete a clear warning 
sweat runs faster than blood 
 
they say it is fire and wind
fighting for remnants of earth
 
authority is lost in the mist 
the sky is the world’s newspaper
 
keep holding her hand 
as your heart thunders 

**

Fever
 
The authorities ring every second day    
when did you first notice? 
It was less than a month ago
I can’t remember whether it began
with a sore throat    a cough    a headache    a shiver    an argument 
or ghosted into existence 
I remember what wasn’t listed as symptom
 
In our bedroom we have an enormous print 
titled    Together in the Maelstrom 
we lie back on our pillows        stare 
at this very small couple    with their back to us    holding hands
they tentatively stand on a peak        overwhelmed    by a crush 
of colours    shapes    lights    senses
 
The first night    he was clinging 
to our vertical mattress    he heard    me singing 
a tune I’d never sung when well    despite my rasp     I was
on key       when I stopped         I said a word as an announcement 
to all in my dream                   by morning    he forgot that word 
he’d held all night 
 
The second night was when the bile stewed hot 
daring to outrun my lungs       
there was Little-Me and Dying-Me discussing my life 
alone in the queen size bed     I saw her let go of his hand 
and fall  
into the void    that couple is framed with suffer
 
when I turned my bed into the sea with my sweat
I knew it was over
I walked away from my sheets 
exhausted with the guilt 
of not fighting wars holding up placards stopping fracking mining 
––––  I let go of his hand to fend off the claws in that painting
 
The phone call from the Department was three days too late 
for me to explain with accuracy 
the temperature and oxygen level    whether he needed 16 puffs 
of Ventolin      like I did
in the corner of the painting
he saw seven lightning strikes  
 
//
I’m sitting by his side    holding his hand    they tell me 
he knows it’s being held    he continues to work so hard
even in silence
 
here is hung the brightest blue of skies 
inspiring the sea’s 
ripples     to lap the honey dunes 
when he wakes   he will notice
 
Angela Costi

Angela Costi is the author of five poetry collections including Honey & Salt (Five Islands Press, shortlisted for Mary Gilmore Prize 2008) and An Embroidery of Old Maps and New (Spinifex Press, awarded The Book Prize for Poetry in English 2022 by the Greek Australian Cultural League); together with nine produced plays/performance-text. She received the High Commendation for Contribution to Arts and Culture, Merri-bek Award 2021. She is known as Αγγελικη Κωστη among the Cypriot Greek diaspora, her heritage. She lives on the land of the Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung people of the Kulin Nation (Melbourne, Australia).  See AngelaCostiPoetics for further information about her writing.