Featured Poet - Adrian Holt

THE LINGERING SCENT OF HOPE

It's always that little bit of hope that f***s you up.

Whenever we're faced with difficult decisions – like life-or-death – we shy away like frightened horses, hanging on to that tiny seed.

My uncle is on his deathbed.

There, I've said it. It doesn’t bring me any clarity or relief. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach is still there. He's on a ventilator, hooked up to a dialysis machine, and who knows what else. His eyes look like sepia spheres, staring blankly into space. I wonder if he sees anything, feels anything. Everyone talks to him – no reaction.

(Swirl of black in the corner of my eye)

The thunderclouds are gathering.

The air is tight and smells of fear, despair, and disinfectant. My cousins stand around their Mom, trying to make that decision. They've heard every side of the story.

There's nothing more that can be done. "He's looking better." "We’re praying for him." "It's for the best that he goes." "You shouldn't want him to live like this – it's cruel." "It's his time."

I have been there.

(Flash of silver)

I know that you're trying to help and I love you.

But right now, something uncoils in my belly and it wants to reach out, grab you by your lapels and punch you repeatedly in the face, punctuating each punch with: How. Do. You. Know. It's. His. Time? Are you carrying Death's watch?

Platitudes!

I am here, at this moment, having to make this decision that is going to change life forever, and you tell me that it's for the best. Best for who? Him? Does he even feel anything now? Does he even know me?

I would be cruel, keeping him here, hooked up to these machines – prolonging his suffering.

What about mine?

I am expected to let him go, with so much unsaid? And I'll throw stones at your house if you tell me that you’ve never wanted those few extra seconds.

You tell me that I must be strong, that I must be strong enough to let go. But how can I?

Look! I open up my palm and nestled amongst the callouses is a warm golden seed. He's strong. He's stubborn. He's a fighter. I know he is! He is going to get past this.

Beeeeeeeeeeeee .................

The gold seed shrivels and falls to the ground – a dull, dust-bunny.

Like I said, it's always that little bit of hope that f***s you up.

EMPTY CHAIR

Mist lies on the surface of the water,

an ephemeral blanket laying over the sighing ripples.

The planks of the pier rasp on my soles.

as I stand on the end, looking out.

She stands in the rowboat, eyes shimmering.

The tether strains against the pier -

then sags, gathering strength.

I call out, my silence echoing into the still air,

leaden arms ignoring me. The boat sneaks away -

the rope unravelling from the cleat, whining.

She reaches out as it disappears into the darkness.

My eyes open wide, a shout smothered behind pursed lips.

A tear winds down my cheek.

Mist follows me down the stairs.

The light hums on, bathing the kitchen balefully.

I sit, my phone heavy, an unwilling exchange. A click.

A graveyard.

I walk the winding path of messages, a stone in my shoe.

I curse the empty words.

I rejoice when she reminds me to pick up the laundry.

I scroll.

I scroll.

I scroll.

And look up to the

empty chair

across me.

Her throaty laugh breathes into my ear. I blink.

She reaches for the sugar, her morning

cup of tea, warming her hand, Ghostkeeper

on the radio.

Don't worry, I won't forget to get the apples!

Eyes squeeze shut, against the scream of tyres.

GONE!

Dad? I saw Mommy. Did you see her too?

He stands in the doorway,

shadows behind him, threadbare

teddy in his hand, cheeks wet.

The chair calls.

Dad?



MY MEDUSA

My hackles rise

Tin soldiers snap to attention,

Bayonets ready for battle

I feel Her breath on the back of my neck, the 

cloying smell of carrion crawling up my nose, 

like bottle green flies.

"Hi Baby", she purrs, "you look tired. Miss me?"

a jaw clenches, teeth grinding, muscles tight, 

holding back the whimper

The frigid voice slices - a scalpel lovingly kissing 

me - coldly, unhurried

a vase shatters on the floor. a scream 

smothered in the darkness

"I'm hurt...you thought that we were done." She

giggled with a soft hiss. "Darling...breathe...you 

always come back"

I thought I'd slipped her grip -

torn myself from her stone bosom, forsaking 

her cold embrace for warmer bodies

But now I stand there almost paralysed, her 

murmur laced with the soft slithering of scales 

coiling over scales and the low hissing of hair

against hair.

a fist hits hard, echoing in an empty room

I look down at my clenched fists, but only find 

my nails digging into my palms, inviting tiny red 

buds to bloom - no shard of mirror.

"Just fall, I'll catch you."

And I'll stay there forever-

a stone shell,

my eyes blurred with unlived days -

once mine -

now the Snake's.

I take one step forward,

feet dragging through cement, tightening 

around my ankles.

a door slams shut - half-empty bag thumping 

down on the landing

I hear the scales, whispering behind me

Another step...

A fly lands softly on my cheek, rubbing its legs 

together like a whispered warning

HYDRA

Sunlight through the curtains

pulls me from the depths,

eyes blinking open

It looms

hypnotic

a swarm of hissing heads,

flared hoods

smeared with Lethe's silence

I lift my pitted sword,

sucking on the mud of the dry well,

and lurch forward,

my hoarse scream breaking

the stillness

It strikes

Scales scrape the ground

like winter leaves,

breath reeking of

burnt-out dreams

I swing. A head tumbles. Puff of dust.

Despair uncoiling

two more bloom, mewling like newborns.

They laugh

I rage

The well is empty.

Blade meets neck, again, again

venom gnawing skin.

I fall,

unasked tears

more heads, dead flowers opening.

It coils around me,

cradling.

Sibilant.

"no more pain,"

it whispers,

drawing me to its

cold

breast.

"you've always been mine."

I close my eyes,

turn,

pulling the covers

over my head.