Through the Witch Window

    0
    902

     

    Soon I’ll be lucent, at your witch window,
    hand raised ready to knock. There are no lies

    hidden between my toes; I am true
    down to the soles of my three stripes. Tonight

    I’ve been riding shotgun with my diamond-eared
    brother. We’ve been a lime-green streak, Datsun clack

    clack, under the cathode constellations of this city.
    My head out the window, howling your name

    into celestial alignment; we’re satellite streaks,
    orbital promise. The second summer of love

    is in my blood, heart beating against my throat;
    This is the last night you’ll be

    the daughter of teachers. Tonight we undo
    all their plans; leave them snoring, mutton

    counting in their dreams. We’ll go
    to Peat’s Ridge, watch harmonics shudder

    the mist, dance ourselves toward firelight. I run
    up your drive, past the rusted-out trailer. And,

    I’m at your window, hand raised.
    You’re at the glass before I knock,

    bag on your shoulder, ready to straddle
    the window; your hands around a jar,

    all our half-hearts collected,
    beating their slippery, faltering time.


    Rico Craig’s poetry has been shortlisted for the University of Canberra Poetry Prize and the Newcastle Poetry Prize. His poem ‘Angelo’ was awarded third prize in the Dorothy Porter prize by Meanjin. Find additional work on Twitter: @RicoCraig