Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

Black and Blue

by Anna Williams

So now I write with my black pen.
The ink is always black;
It should be blue, or red.

I always write in black,
Words swallowed by a soul,
An ugly mouth wide open;
A slobbering, quivering hole.

I should write in blue.
Blue like the edge of your iris,
Or a man's filthy denim jeans.

Ink should be red.
Burning crimson atoms to dye the ghastly whiteness;
White as the skin that gathers,
Stretched taut over your collarbone.

The ink remains dark.
Dark as the inside of your eye sockets.
It flows like black ice,
And creates its image like a disfigured shadow,
Bewildered by flickering brilliance.

If the ink were blue I could be reality.
Fluid, sweeping, all encompassing beauty.
I would not be static ambiguity;
A still symbol of invisible torment.

Redness spurts and surges like a tide
Of crushed raspberries;
Its sweet, decadent juice saturates the expressionless,
Motionless chasms of the truth
- black and blue.

Added: 19.04.2009