MAGGIE SAWKINS

Brass Monkeys
 

My mother’s dusters flap –
tiny yellow sails above the cabbages.
Inside everything sparkles

like a wedding ring dipped in vinegar.
Ginger cat hairs, angel cake crumbs
the family’s fingernails banished into thin air.

Bring in the washing!
Next door’s mongrel’s on the loose.
Pegs are flying.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Fetch the broom!
Too late. The tail of Dad’s shirt’s
wrapped round its rubbery tongue.

What’s skin made of?
I’m staring into the pink ear
of my baby rabbit.

Before anyone can answer
it’s leapt from my lap
into a wigwam of sweet peas.

Faster than a blue-arsed fly,
she told Dad later
over Vesta chop suey and rice.

It’s not fair, just as the princess falls
in love with the genie, I’m packed off to bed.
Neither is a black man’s bum, says Dad

as he tucks me up in stiff white sheets.
All night the drone of voices drifts through
the floorboards stinging my ears like bees.

Alina Olimpia Miron

Maggie Sawkins
 

Maimute de alama

Carpele mamei flutura-
Mici panze galbene deasupra verzelor.
Inauntru tot straluceste

Precum o verigheta inmuiata in otet.
Peri roscati de pisica, firmituri de prajitura
Unghiile familiei zburand in aer.

Adu rufele de afara!
Potaia vecinilor e dezlegata.
Carlige in aer.

Iisus, Maria si Iosif! Luati matura!
Prea tarziu. Capatul camasii tatei
e-nfasurata in jurul limbii sale ca de cauciuc.

Din ce e facuta pielea?
Ma holbez in urechea rozalie
A iepurasului meu.

Inainte ca cineva sa poata raspunde
A sarit din poala mea
Intr-un wigwam de indrusaim.

Mai iute ca sageata,
i-a zis tatei mai tarziu
la o farfurie de orez si tocanita Vesta.

Nu e corect, tocmai cand printesa
se indragosteste de duh, sunt trimisa la culcare.
Nici fundul unui negru nu este, spune tata.

Pe cand ma inveleste in albe cearsafuri apretate.
Toata noaptea bazaitul vocilor curge prin
Parchet intepandu-mi urechile precum albinele.