A Poem by Tamara Simpson

The Bar

On aerial planes

I turn,

silver heels slashing the wrist

of land before the ocean

and the sand.

My dear, your eyes are moons

as they watch me

dance and pivot.

Such an external change!

You must think me possessed.

But it's not my demons

who make me dance.

I offer you my hand, smiles

dripping from my fingers.

They close on air;

you step away,

shaking your head.

I stumble, but raise

my hands valiantly

to the stars, refusing to fall,

to fall.

I dress my pain

in the swelling gowns

of euphoria. All I want now

Is to escape you

All I want

is to be free.

The wind murmurs brilliantly,

sadly. I turn from it,

salt-water flecks my cheek.

Ocean-tears,

not mine.

The tide changes;

nothing I can say

will prevent it. Perhaps

if you had danced with me!

The moon recedes;

my bare feet

sink coldly

into the quickening sand.

 

 

 

Tamara Simpson is a current student University of Western Australia who spends most of her time writing poetry and fiction when she should be studying. She has had previous work published in the Road Not Taken Journal of Formal Poetry, Every Day Poets Magazine, and Open Minds Quarterly.