rationality a fleeting thing
           something lost after the birds
had long since flown
           as the telephone lines were still
finding their footing
           once when the rattling was nothing
but an inconvenience wearing a trench coat
           the six-o-clock news warned us
to anchor our televisions
           that a boy had become pinned
between a screen and a hard place
           since then I only ever listened with one ear
so I could hear it coming
           because you will hear it coming if you are quick
to recognize the throat of the land
           gurgling behind hills and under pastures
and some people write the sound to be akin
           to a stomach sick with hunger
after the evening has washed over
           or the thrashing of a whale’s
largest limb splintering a vessel
           and who could blame the creature
still giving us plenty of warning that we
           were simply caught in the wrong current
and I must have won the lottery this morning
           planted on the veranda
not hypnotized by the caroling
           advertisements on television
when my mother tracked the movement
           outside weaving between thistles and bulbs
as though a spider
           bolting through a web
lunging her knees into trodden soil
           her robe damp from the morning not yet lifted
pleading to the mouth of the land
           taking in the silence
teething and relentless
           shooing a battery of blackbirds away from
branches making a mess of the telephone lines
           and if you ask me
I think it sounds like a roaring win
           of an opposing team
two fists belting across a chest
           a splitting sternum
fractured and puncturing
           so here rationality could only ever be
a fleeting thing rolling around
           as a marble in our palms
because as her chest fell towards
           the throbbing wound my mother
asked me to fetch her sewing kit
           as though whatever lay buried
was not yet dead


Photo by Jens Aber on Unsplash

Mary Kelly

Mary Kelly (she/her) is an Aotearoa-born writer whose work is featured and forthcoming in Serviette, Ensemble, Rat World, Starling, takahē, Yolk Literary, Canadian Literature Journal, and elsewhere. When she is not writing, she serves as the Poetry and Prose Editor for SAD Magazine and is a reader for ONLYPOEMS. She lives in Vancouver and you can find her at @marykelly.co