Janette Ayachi

December 2, 2012 § Leave a comment

Sonatas of Snow

I stare out at the snow with eyes as dark as omega plums
the wind rolls out clouds the way a woman unravels
her treasured Persian rug on the empty floors
of her new home in a vast city,
a flick of the wrist, a magic trick,
signing space in the dust as clock towers chime in the distance.

The white brackish hills hug the skyline, a blister of air furrows
under woven light, snow falls, hail follows, it tails down
the chimney to tap at porcelain propped up
in the fireplace, drops glaze
the unlit candle in the hearth
where every movement is in minuet, each step repeats shadows.

Only footprints mark existence outside but snow keeps falling
and footsteps are erased, the streets evacuate
as no one wants to be wiped out that easily.
Colonies cluster behind cauldrons
of gun metal light and the infra-red
glow of ice-tipped windows- anything left outside is forgotten.

Shovels erect like abstract crucifixes marking graves
looping at the foot of the streets like musical staves starved
of any song. I take shelter from Highland swept blizzards,
move furniture, burrow behind walls and thumb
shoals of dust away from my stacked books
– the smell of old libraries as discrete as a geisha’s dagger.


Janette Ayachi

December 2, 2012 § Leave a comment

Poetry Library

I first met your poet’s stare at a book fair
where you were selling copies
of your last book, promoting the next one
with leaflets and rain-stained smiles,
I wanted to stop at your stall
even speak to you but I was nervous,
though later you appeared beside me
in the dimly lit aisle of poetry where
I was dreaming of hawthorn blossom
and you were scanning the shelves
halting your gaze as if each book
was a familiar painting
holding your pen like a cigarette.
You whispered an apology
because you felt you cornered me
as I stepped back against the wall
to let you grasp the book
you were hunting with flapping wrists.
I was pregnant, in full bloom
you smiled like you understood
my cumbersome step, woman to woman
our secrets sewn in to the unknown.
The following week I read your new poetry
curious to discover more about you
I bathed in the submerging light
of your words and soaked
in the reflective bubbles of your voice.
Today you pass me with your daughter
shadows hatch behind
your unfaltering calm
the child once within me
now two weeks welcomed
in to a world where luteous leaves
descend and my body is sensing
its old formations
the circumnavigation of flight
and longing.

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing the Janette Ayachi category at Writers For Libraries.