Screen

The girl turns inwards 

Watch her arms 

How they turn to a thousand orchestras 

How she slips off her legs 

Buries them in tombs 

They die among earth-fog

Lung-thick, the appalling sound 

Why won’t you let her sleep? 

Her green jewels, her green pills,

May-born, dead by April,

The marching, that endless marching 

That shoal of fish at her bones 

And the black shroud of tortured ancestry.

You mean no harm 

When does anyone mean any harm? You watch her dance 

The pyramid hat comes back around 

Year after year you watch her dance, 

Made static, vivified. 

White sticks in your cigarette fingers,

The relapsed splinters, ugly parsnips

Throw her about in your cigarette fingers

You mean no harm, when does anyone, your cigarette fingers 

She is driving her stake down and down,

She does not sit anymore,

Her onion tears are for the dance 

The red shoes 

The ballet sequence 

Overboard, overground, the last splinters. 


Talia Jacobs

Talia is a third year English student at Hild Bede and a poetry editor at From the Lighthouse. Primarily a poet and fiction writer, she is currently adapting Virginia Woolf’s The Waves for screen and has previously written articles for From the Lighthouse and The Palatinate. She plans on developing her work at Cambridge University in the following years, where she has a place to read English Literature at a Masters level.

Previous
Previous

The Week Between Christmas and New Year