Two Poems by Annabel Mahoney
On Gilgo Beach
Sometimes I hate and sometimes I remember and sometimes I think of what was done and said
at the back of my throat like a wire and
i can’t imagine more than what happened in this flesh
in this body, in this upholstered bone.
A bottle of wine a night and I still can’t say
mark her, o mark her, the gallant captain cried
and I put down my sails a lee,
A bottle of wine a night and I still can’t see
Sometimes I remember and sometimes I bite;
in my dreams I draw blood from myself
from biting my finger from not saying what
I can’t remember. I wake up and the marks
aren’t there and that’s the only
thing that can say it wasn’t real. In my dream I
vomit flesh and bite myself so I bleed. in my world
i stuff cotton in my throat so i can’t; in my world my teeth
were taken out like a pearl necklace. In the world
that’s here they don’t say a thing.
I remember my body.
I remember her well, as a friend.
I remember when we loved each other.
I worked her and she was good. I made her
work and I made her. And people loved me because
I made her. And all my happiness became because I made
her. And when I had to think otherwise the made was gone and
I was away. I was gone, and I took me with me. I took my heart with my head and now I don’t know where we have gone. I seek and I search
but I can’t find either one.
Annabel Mahoney is the Editor-in-Chief of the Wellington Street Review and the Creative Director of Royal Rose Magazine. She has been widely published in a number of literary journals and anthologies; most recently Burning House Press, Ghost City Review, Déraciné Magazine, Mookychick and RECLAIM: An Anthology of Women’s Poetry.
Her first collection, Wyf-King, was released with Lapwing Publications in June 2019.
Twitter: annabel_mahoney Website: annabelmahoney.com