Last call before take-off
To the ones who stow their past mistakes, those half drunk
sandy blond wooden mistakes, carefully in padlocked suitcases.
To the ones who come aboard floppy, like broken reeds
gathered from the edge of that Floridian
bog. Who vomit on anyone who humours them
those things which should be kept sealed between
their therapist and their toilet bowl. Who are desperate
for a witness. Who cling to despair like a broken winged stork
hitching its final ride:
this announcement is for you.
Open the back door. Let the little key fall
from your shoelace bracelet.
Take off your muddy boots.
Fly away from it all.
Dream of tragedy
I dream of a wooden box
to deposit my years into like a paper
skinned old woman, for the spinning
of time to be dead hair
I dream of decomposition
closing the lid
burying my memory
burning my feelings
until all that’s left are scraps, loose bones
I dream of tragedy
some solid way to explain
that something died inside
I dream of permission
to throw away my empty spine
to distill my pain into the body of a great
aunt twice-removed, can my sadness please
just be for show, can it all transform
from abstract steel to renaissance-crisp canvas
that fades over time, can the metal spear that stabbed me
just be a paper straw, wrapped in paper
casing, fast to disintegrate,
some kind of unstrong thing,
like a worm
Rachael Sevitt is a Scottish-Israeli writer, poet, and editor. She enjoys romanticizing the mundane, reading in coffee shops, and hiking by moonlight. Rachael is pursuing an MA in Creative Writing from Bar Ilan University. Her work has been published in Write Haus and the Scottish Poetry Library. She lives in Jaffa, Israel, by the sea. IG: @rachael.sevitt