Harley Bell

There is a house beyond the hedges:
lichen licks the roof
and a stone statue
once stood by the roses.

Alexandra, I walked the bridges
that keep you above the waters
of the Clutha.

I listened to the clock atop the hill
beyond the Manuherikia
and time does not stop ticking.

Alexandra, I have seen the golden wedding
rings beneath leather gloves,

the hard hands that grip soft hair.
Alexandra, I know the sound
of a leather belt
hanging on
the back of an armchair.

Alexandra, the child of an Otago night.
We stir our shadows
with silver teaspoons, sugar and tea.
A splash of milk is enough to never
spill the sweetness from our dreams.