Poem by Suzanne Catlin

Here is a fresh poem by my friend and coursemate from Kingston's Creative Writing programme, Suzanne Catlin. I think the poem is good, the language at times lovely. Thanks, Suzanne.


Atheist Ashes

We are gathered through unwavering resolve
To walk through these heavy iron-wrought doors together
Strengthened by the people we’ve known,
Weakened by the people who’ve left us.

And as I sit I realise something akin to gravity,
The maw of realization becoming a chasm
So wide I cannot see the teeth only the deep void;
Only the nothingness behind my own eyelids.

Hymns echo in awe around the rafters but I can’t breathe.
So I sit there lips tight with eyes dry and burning
Leaning against the cut lilies already wilting;
And I’m scared but not enough to be fooled.

There is no God, no metaphor, only silence;
A thrilling crescendo of imagined noise,
A puff of cold air along a prickled nape,
A play of coloured light on pews and stone.

I stay long after the people are gone,
Down by the crumpled bibles and prayer cushions,
The chill settling into the sinew and bone,
And beyond the doors the sky tears itself open,
Becoming a thunderstorm.

Make your own Nun- a poem

Felt, 20cm by 10cm light pink

20cm by 15cm grey

15cm by 14cm white

Lightweight yarn, beige

2 black beads

Silver chain

Silver cross

Cardboard

Batting

Rouge.

Boxing Day

The paper, the absence, the necessary ornament:

No. Today, you in new Nike, white and Alaska,

Drive me to the trailers, your Marine friends-

Their holiday selves are weaker, unprepared,

Wrapped in two pairs of sweatpants.

At the ice rink, you promise to help me forget.

I’m cautious against the white cleanliness.

You push me forwards ‘til I’m flying, safety-swung,

Your thumbs pressed to my shoulder blades:

My skates skim and our cheeks form blushed rounds.

Your house, our cheeks not yet calm:

Your mother asks if we feel better now. Our brother

Is still dead. The boxer dogs wag their tails regardless.

Come evening, my house is like I never left:

The eight I live with lie atop made beds, as earlier.

Men and women are not alike.

'I think we should break up', he says. He calmly drinks his beer, pays, and puts his jacket on. Then, 'I think I'm making you unhappy'. She cannot see through the tears.

I'm working in infant schools. This is what I learnt on day one.

All parents love their kids the same amount. Some love them by helping with thier spelling, or by being on time to collect them. But others don't. It doesn't mean they are 'worse' parents. It is just a reflection of personal priorities.

The glove.

My friend, who shall remain anonymous, told the following secret:

It is New Years Eve. He goes to a house party. A lot of people are outside, on the deck. He too is outside. It is very cold, and he wears gloves. He sees a guy he knows. The guy introduces him to his brother. They shake hands, but my friend does not remove his glove for the handshake. A gloved hand shakes an ungloved hand.

My friend felt bad about not removing the glove for around two years. For those two years, he thought about it every day. Now he now only thinks about it sometimes. I'm not sure if he still feels bad about it. Maybe a little.

Does anyone else have something tiny that lasted for years in thier head? When I was thirteen or so I lied about having seen a Southpark episode. A boy asked me if I'd seen it and I said yes because I wanted to talk to him and I wasn't sure how else I could. I told him I thought it was great. I felt bad about lying to him for... maybe a year. When I think of it now, I still feel a little bad.