POEM Alys Conran

NWR Issue 111

Monologue in A


Oh love, don’t mind me, power station posing as a pebble,
dressed in the colour of rockpools or sweeping arctic air
and wreathed in slate scarves. See here at my right flank?
I sport mustard yellow like lichen. For this hide and seek

of ours you count as I hum A. Now hold up your readers,
bat counters, ears, and listen through their Google Translate.
Catch a word or two of my declining equations? Radiant
they are, despite all this get up. Beneath my coverings

I sing my nineteen-sixties song until infinity and all that time
your back was turned, I became the heartbeat of the place.
See this transparent water which beats so tenderly against
the innocent cove at my feet? There a lady dips bare toes

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Alys Conran writes poetry and fiction. Her work is to be found in Stand and the Manchester Review. Her debut novel, Pigeon, is published by Parthian this summer. She is a lecturer in Creative Writing at Bangor University.



       


previous poem: Star Tin Ga Cha: Fission Fragments
next poem: The Wired Lines



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