He said he couldn’t believe he was flying
He said that it was the best feeling ever
He said my breath on his face was exhilarating
He said my golden hair had never been so within his grasp
He said my radiance would leave his cheeks redder than before
He said he wanted to hold me in his hands
He said look father I can almost touch her
He said he would never again be able to stand on solid ground
He said or forget seeing my face this close
He said Don’t worry father, I’ll be fine
He said Just a little higher

I remember his father’s face
I remember seeing his feathers fall off one by one
I remember him slipping through my fingertips
I remember the splash
I remember a beautiful girl,
crying on the beach
I remember her calling out his name
I remember her hair behind her:
As she jumped after him, off a cliff
I have been waiting a millennium, to forget
I would have liked to catch him
It would have only scorched him worse

daytime rhythms
of coming and
going


a-swish
a-yawn
a-slam
a-trudge


out the door
in the car
to the place


there


twiddled thumbs
swivelled chairs
barked-up trees
and morning teas
and banter

​
hands
on knees
and eyes to
clock
​

and this meeting
here
and that duty
there
tick tock


a-flow through
time and space
and light
as the
sun turns over
in its sky
and rests its
head down on
the other side
​

then
out the door
in the car
to the place
​

for something quick
to have for dinner
​

then
​

home
​



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield

Paradise of the mind
A precarious place to be,
The jungle of sleep.
Wake. Sleep.
A cyclical smile arises
Easing societal surprises,
You’ve got them at your feet
Child.
All you’re doing is counting,
And everyone can sleep.
Run sand run.
Sleep sloth sleep.
Sporadically blitz,
Contrasting brain blip
Turn your head
And sleep.
‘We will be there soon’
And you show them your
Ticket.
Can you smile?
Just for fun
I hear a conversation running
Simultaneously.

Similarly
Rhythmically

Potatoes
Same as last week.
Staring at those peas
Counting the –
Components and compartments,
To fit your
Flesh and bone things.

Dead end days
Spent by dead-end kids
Living on a dead-end street
Listening to a dead-end radio
Sing about dead-end dreams
That taste bittersweet on the dead-end tongues
Of these dead-end kids
It’s just another dead-end day
Doing dead-end deeds
In a dead-end world of grey

Dead-End Boy
Met Dead-End Girl
Born was a dead-end friendship
But the Dead-End Boy
Had dead-end feelings
For the Dead-End Girl
But the from the Dead-End Boy
The Dead-End Girl felt no joy
In a dead-end instant
Their dead-end friendship did die

Now the Dead-End Boy
Lives life unknown on a dead-end road
And the Dead-End Girl
Works a dead-end job
But in her dead-end head,
She’s singing dead-end lies
On a dead-end radio
Using her dead-end tongue so sweet
To talk about her dead-end dreams
And listening in, are dead-end kids
On a dead-end street
Their dead-end lives
Just some more dead-end deeds done
Just some more dead-end days
Done in a dead-end world forever in greys

sometimes I just feel broken
unable to move
useless
and all I ever want to just do
is just be gone
let it all end
my heart is empty
my mind is empty
I am empty

I look at myself in the mirror,
Unsure why
I don’t like what I see,
But how can I change?
I was made this way for a reason
And I will stay this way forever.

I don’t want to be like this forever.
I look at my reflection in the mirror
And I do it for a reason,
Even though I don’t know why.
But I guess I want to change
Although it’s not that easy, you see...

I hate what I see,
And I don’t want to be this way forever.
But I don’t know how to change.
Because what I see in the mirror
I think is ugly. You ask why?
Well even I don’t know the reason.

And there is a reason,
That I am still unable to see
And I know why.
Because no matter what, I will think this way forever
And continue to look in the mirror
Wanting my body to change.

I want myself to be different, to change
And it’s like that for a reason.
I can only see myself in the mirror
And I hate what I see.
It will be like this forever
No matter how many times I ask ‘why’.

I cry and scream and yell out ‘why’,
Because I want my body to change.
I will cry forever
For the very good reason
That I hate what I see
When I look in the mirror.

I now know why and it will stay like that forever,
I look in the mirror and am disgusted with what I see,
But I see that I can’t change myself and that is the reason.

In English,
we’re learning about
Winston and Julia
in 1984, but
it’s 2017
all I want to study is
you.

I want to study less
about the
control and freedom
Big Brother has
and more about
the calculation of your
moves.

I want to study the way
your knuckles could be an
infant’s home, small
hands reaching out
longing for you
or the way the veins in
your arm makes abstract art,
beautiful enough to be showcased
in any gallery.

I understand now why they say
“as pretty as a painting.” Because
you’re as timeless and
breathtaking as
Mona Lisa.

And your blue iris's,
swirl with dark and light
tones with a slight
a golden glint,
I could stare into them for longer
than any
Starry Night.

Maybe,
I’m just better suited to an art class.
I want to learn the primaries
so I can swirl them all together and
get your dark brown hair.
I want to add the most expensive
white, so I can paint the
faint freckles on your nose and

I want to mix blue and red adding water
until the colour is a perfect match
for the faintest birthmark
on your shoulder.

Instead of the History of Russia,
I want to learn the History
of you.
I want to learn what makes you smile
and what makes you cry.

I want to study you,  
I use each brush stroke to
perfect your skin,
each pen writes down
notes until
I have a whole book
full of each heartbreak,
so I can learn a lesson
in you.