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JO
MCINERNEY
two
poems
gothic depths
- entering a cathedral was like
sliding underwater
- the temperature, the quality of
light changed
- cool and still and silent
- everything else far away and
remembered only
- as noise and pressure, heat and
glare
- gone as the doors swung shut
behind
- colour fading as you waded in
- your hands before your face, the
pale skin
- breath and pulse scarcely
discernable
- distance hard to gauge
- all laid out in a darkening
gradation of pews
- the tabernacle infinitely
untouchable
- the ranks of mustered gladioli,
arum lilies
- dead man’s fingers
gesturing through the gloom
- and everywhere the after-scent
of incense
Love’s mansion
- A torpid canvas belly, poorly
pegged,
- hung overhead, not taut, instead
sagging
- toward them, moving with their
ragged breath.
- Like rooting in an iron lung,
except
- this flagged and sighed and
bellowed in and out,
- until finally they shuddered
silent
- and clung for comfort as the
once warm air
- misted above them. Outside the
night froze.
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