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House Show by Saoirse Nash
This violent spirit,
sweeping like ancient dust
across every suburb.
These quiet streets and their
(ghosts birthing ghosts
to chase each other) in dusken ennui
my chest cracking through the weight of it.
This city is a lot emptier in a quiet summer,
no drums over unsuspecting homes to
beat the heart too.
I’m all ache, all groan, moan and missing a
it’s not gone
(I’ve already mentioned the ghosts)
it’s not gone.
Life is full of blood circulating bodies,
fighting for their freedom through
the fences and constructs, physical
and invisible. (What’s to gain in keeping them up?)
The sibling’s pain, un-confronted, unchallenged,
will strike us all down given time and space.
I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve left growing
in my backyard, the weeds I did not pull,
choking to death the trees, and flowers and soil
(With enough time there will be nothing left here)
all crumbling to dust,
sweeping over suburbs
till the streets are quiet
but the memory of cruelty
Saoirse Nash is a performance poet and freelance gig organiser born in rural Ireland and now living and creating primarily on Whadjuk Noongar Land. She’s been a three time invited guest at the National Young Writer’s Festival, helped to co-ordinate Spoken Word Perth, performed in 5 star, sell out Fringe Show ‘Star-crossed Poets and is one half of indie publishing press Hectic Measures Press. You can catch her around town yelling about something in someone’s backyard or lurking at the back of some music gig with a notebook in hand.