Wes Lee The Large Magnifying Glass I held the large magnifying glass to images that started to move like mini-films. I wanted to hear the voices. When we were children and we had a kind of cushioning. My father turns towards the camera, drinking and staring. My mother is fixing something in the galley kitchen, not realising she is being filmed. When she realises, withdraws. When I'm Quiet When I'm quiet, often writing a poem, I will feel a great blow to the back of my head. Blood perhaps bubbling from my nose. A cataclysmic jolt of surprise and horror. The blunt stick of wood. The caveman's tool clutched. And that beautiful head, the one that did so much, that cold head, that warm blood flowing head is knocked to the extreme angle. The human may be a creeping shoe in my head. A soft-soled shoe purchased with surprise in mind. And the human may be the ball of the foot, a light connectivity with earth with the floor that has been built upon it. Cover 'Fast Car' comes on over the cafe speaker. I long for cover — to wear dark sunglasses again. Asked by the therapist to take them off. What words did she use? If you please. If you can. Gently tapping her temple; brushing her eyeline. Offering a quick, pensive smile. Wes Lee lives in Paekakariki on the Kāpiti Coast of New Zealand. Her latest poetry collection By the Lapels was launched in Wellington (Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2019). Her work has appeared in Best New Zealand Poems, Cordite, The Australian Poetry Journal, Westerly, The New Zealand Listener, among others. Most recently she was awarded the Poetry New Zealand Prize 2019 by Massey University Press.previous page     contents     next page
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