ALISON EASTLEY

Blackout

At first, I thought it was my pulse
not this crowd of voices.
I can’t concentrate on the map from your place
to mine.

At the roundabout, take the second
exit onto National Highway 1. At the next
roundabout,
take the third exit. I see white lines

on a green surface
like freshly mown grass.
It reminds me of the smell of your sweat
scenting the sheets but all I have

is the landscape
of distance, the landscape of absence,
and it’s here, in the margins, and here,
in the liminal spaces, and here,

I study the bureau of meteorology.
Already the weather has changed from benign
to wild winds, rain lashed storms
and candles placed throughout the house.

Incessant rain becomes a prophesy
that floods your voice when you call.
My thirst is as dark as a secret.
It soaks me to the skin. 

Alison Eastley lives  with her cat in a small seaside village in Tasmania. A tutor by day, a writer by night, Alison's work will be appearing soon in Neologism.