HS: “Chris is a very focused writer and these poems show a real attention to detail. I was really pleased when she said she could give us some poetry. I think she shows a real timeless poetic understanding, but she writes with a contemporary voice. Here are two of her poems.”
The Siliconcoated Tent
After Robert Frost
He’s like a tent with zipped walls of silk
stretched on stems of aluminiumalloy
that bend until the silk walls crease,
when every metal peg is so put in
to emphasise an equal pressure
in the clay slope where it is pitched;
if nylon guyropes stretching in the dew
make the tent slacker
still it holds its shape in any weather
so carefully siliconproofed
that the first heavy drops of rain
roll off the impregnated silk like stones.
The insectry crawls along the flysheet,
lost, outside his hidden encampment.
A Word With My Doctor
I can’t sleep for the sound of my ears.
I think I can hear data in the air.
So, you didn’t think it was tinnitus.
Maybe it’s just the sound of distant traffic
In the street and in the sky.
Maybe I can hear high frequencies.
Maybe in a damp tent in the hills
I wouldn’t hear these dry noises.
What keeps you awake at night?
People like me, I suppose!
I realise people get sectioned
for hearing things. When I worked as an usher
(years ago now)
a woman wrote a polite letter
saying she loved the cinema
but could we please stop the government
calling her over the tannoy?
I don’t hear threats
but between the aeroplanes and the noise of the fridge
I know what they are
there are other noises.
I honestly believe they’re digital.
And I wonder if a text is going through my body
and another through his as he lies next to me
or if I can just, just hear and feel
a film being downloaded through us
by the upstairs neighbour.