On Being Left

On Being Left

By Helen Birmingham

With my eyes closed

I stare at you.

Unblinking.

Did I pull the words from your mouth like vomit, and then

Watch them pierce my flesh.

Watch as each hole.

Each scar,

Each wound,

Bled with your words?

Your sentences drew blood from my lip, as I

Writhed and fought to keep hold of you.

But when you were done with me

You simply snipped the thread, and

Walked

Away.

I know.

You made me beautiful.

So who scribbled onto my beauty

With these scratches, scars, knots and tangles?

In our white box with padded walls

So many words were stitched.

Now everything is black knotted thread.

And with my eyes closed,

I stare at you.

Unblinking.

Why Did the Old Woman Cross the Road?

Why Did the Old Woman Cross the Road?

by Helen Barter

A road separates two old ladies,

on opposite sides, both dressed in turquoise coat

and beige trousers. Each wearing one red shoe;

both leaning slightly, to opposite sides,

listing with the weight of their shopping.

Which one will cross to meet the other?

They both set off, step for tentative step,

no eye contact, no gesture of recognition.

A road still separates the two old ladies,

on opposite sides, both dressed in turquoise coat

and beige trousers, each wearing one red shoe;

Now walking, in opposite directions,

listing with the weight of their worlds.

First Oyster: French Kissing a Mermaid

French Kissing a Mermaid

by Helen Barter

Mouth curves to meet lover's gnarled lip.

Expectant tremble of anticipation as 

tongue touches tongue;

slide then swallow her

salty gift of 

love. 

X

Reader, she married him.

Reader, She Married Him

By Helen Barter

Ignore that remnant of the past, 

screaming from the roof, and

walking the corridors after dark.

Did she leave because he lied?

What if he had told her?

Would they simply have pined

for that which they could not have?

Lived a life frustrated.

Screaming in unison with 

the anguished soul of another?

She would not accept

the remainder of him.

What if he had asked her?

Turn a blind eye to attic-bound death 

in exchange for sight and freedom?

What if he had asked her that?

Was that punishment for his lies

or absolution for his sins?

Reader, she married him.

The burnt and beautiful remains of him.

Not the remainder.

Regret

Regret

By Helen Barter

Out, damned spot! out, I say!

Here's the mark of regret still:  

All the lasers of Harley Street

Will not sweeten this misjudgement.

I must bear the scar.

What's done cannot be undone .....

1970's Mere

1970's Mere

by Helen Barter

And there we were

you and me, in a beautiful pea-green 

paddle boat.

Bright red handles of

innocence turning 

water 

churning 

as

bare knee brushes bare knee

and the sun shines.

Edison's Elephant

Edison's Elephant

By Helen Barter

All the fun of the fair.

Smile for the camera.

Smile damn you, smile.

Smile as the foetid smoke rises

from between your toes.

Smile as you fall; darkly.

Rigor mortis

stiffens my resolve

as well as your tortured body.