Jaine Hannath

Two poems

And still it rains

First falsehood of spring falters as
day discloses the truth
of obvious lies.

Spring. Spurious words sprout petals, wings and horns
I claim virtue only for the thoughts I
keep constrained in my throat.

Thinking “thank god for silence” – thinking
about absolution, thinking about
the tenet of world

end. Endless silence, end
of all seasons.
Autumn abdicates and still it rains.

…And still it rains

First fucking day of spring and still it rains. My
day in ruins. What did I expect? Sunshine, T-shirts and skirts? A crock
of sentimental shit brewed up by the stupid weatherman.

Spring! Scabrous words sprout forked fiery tongues and the devil’s tail.
I can’t believe this! Angry and disjointed thoughts
keep up a cacophony in my head –

about striking out at someone. The Someone Up There! Thinking about
the maker of all seasons – the one who decides when a time will
end. The bearer

of ominous tacit, this rain, on my wedding day.
Autumn abdicates and still it rains.


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