Two Poems by Abby Cunningham



Room

Dear mum,


This place is

out of touch

Walls inverted,

carpet crust is burrowed in the cuticles of room.



This place is

Somewhere else.

And the inhabitant has left marks but seems to have

felt

It is detached

so is mouth

and so is foot.


Sending love,

Head



Coma Hotel

They will sit in my hospital house.

Sift the halls whilst strumming the spines

and take you to a place that you and I

Never went to.

Never wished to.


They will sing and split the text

and we shall watch from different plains

as the rye breaks and the bells take our place

and I won’t break the plasm between our states

because I am only half dead.

Yet half awake.


They won’t sit in your room and fold the corners

Feed the priest, the dog

the mourners

hold the door to let the weary in

so that they may begin

to understand

why your predestination

had to be my sin