Mary Street
by Phineas Wilton (@phinnywilly)
1.
The beef stew is cold and curls into the air.
Her voice is a polished stone.
He’s sleeping by the garden.
My pen tears into the newspaper.
2.
The cliff is warm and beating a rhythm.
The water wicks and smiles away into the wind,
and the snowmelt wavers in my vision.
It whips away anything left here, above the sky.
3.
The funeral home have their own tissues that say that they’re family too,
and they practice their pensive look
as they wheel him out from the fridge.
The lights sing like steel.
His coffin waterlogged,
they lay him heavy with his eyes hollowed
in his polo shirt.
a cicada clings to him,
waiting to climb.
4.
His chair sits upon itself, a temple.
The stove curdles the air and we lumber past like smoke-plastered bees.
The handles of the spoons are placed the wrong way, and
The Virgin Mary leans to the side.
Phineas is a 15 year old aspiring poet and collage artist, from Melbourne, Australia. He is inspired by themes of childhood, love and regret in his work.
