Wes Lee


Claw foot

Smelling of iron / cold
to the shoulder / The times
we made alien hairstyles with
shampoo / our slippery child-bodies /
and easy laughter / Deep within the
house an absent space dedicated
to water / like the Romans /
To lie like an emperor for an hour.



They say we made it up

and I ask Why separate ourselves
from the herd? Why divide?

Paint ourselves outcast white and wait
to be picked off.

Why would we make ourselves the wolf
with one blue eye to unnerve

enough to snarl and lash. Hiss out
into the dark of the forest.



The Door

And I wonder if there will be people who'll help me.
Like asking for directions in a strange city or like
finding the Family Room along identical hospital corridors.
The door is a veil to a new life. I've seen people
ignore bodies lined in doorways. I don't think the nurses
will be kind. The strangers. I wonder about comfort.
Like one of those apertures where you can only go through
not back. A fishhook in your finger.




Wes Lee lives in New Zealand. She has two collections of poetry, Shooting Gallery (Steele Roberts, Wellington, 2016), and a pamphlet Body, Remember (Eyewear Publishing, London, 2017). Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Westerly, Cordite, Going Down Swinging, The Stinging Fly, Poetry London, The London Magazine, Landfall, Poetry New Zealand, among others. Most recently she was awarded the Poetry New Zealand Prize 2019 by Massey University Press.
 
 
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