Coral Hull: Poetry: In The Dog Box Of Summer: 66 Rose Street

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: IN THE DOG BOX OF SUMMER
66 ROSE STREET

I
this is how i found my parents/ i walked down a dark
street/ scented with crimson roses/ there i came
upon a dark house/ with two lonely people living
inside/ on first sight of the blood red brick/ i
wanted to run back/ to the place/ where i had come
from/ but the tangled thorns of rose street/ had
crowned me with their poison/ shutting out the sun/
i stepped into the garden/ like a warm blooded
mammal/ newly dazed/ from winter hibernation

II
as a child/ i could barely breathe/ in the dark
house/ the carpets were dark blue & black/ you could
lose your feet in such carpet/ if your toes were
deep blue/ from the coldness of the rooms/ there
were inky black patches where you could fall in/ i
hopped past them/ & crept along the skirting boards/
to my mother's bedroom/ i stood & watched her skin
change colour/ as she was sleeping/ it was the sky
blue of the east/ when the sun is setting

III
the lounge where my farher sat/ chewing his toenails
or lying drunk/ was black/ the kitchen blue/
cigarette smoke/ staining the wall/ behind the large
spiked clock/ & a fine ash covering the floor &
bodies like pompeii/ toenail sickles stuck up/ out
of the navy carpet/ where my father lay/ ten fish
sat suspended/ in aquarium water/ behind half opened
venetian blinds/ & from an ash covered radiogram/
johnny cash wailed out/ the long black veil cemetery
song

IV
there was a cactus rockery in our frontyard/ my
mother had carefully chosen/ each puffy succulent/
as a gift to my father/ the greatest gift/ was a
huge prickly pear/ reaching out into the frontyard/
from beneath my father's window/ it used to break my
balloons at christmas/ & my beach balls in summer/
it was malicious/ i kept my bright coloured objects/
away from the cactus/ neighbourhood kids/ lost
dozens of toys/ on its spikes/ during school
holidays

V
my mother's room was purple/ she had a witch puppet/
hanging from a fibre glass beam/ above her window/
shrieking out from the dusk/ that it would come
alive/ & take our lives/ to inside its body of wood/
i tried not to look into my mother's bedroom/ as i
crept down the hallway into my own/ but i always
did/ sometimes when the blinds were open/ it would
be facing out into the frontyard/ on darker days/
it would be shrieking out at me/ from the bedroom

VI
the bathroom was chocolate/ & painted on two white
tiles/ stood thin sad koories/ looking out/ over an
ochre desert/ i could move into the tiles with them/
& found myself looking for what had been/ the
bathroom was a draughty place/ my mother had
carefully chosen the desert mosaic/ often she would
lay across it/ an inside wind lifting her skirt/ i
told her what the koories had told me/ she said/
that she could be in the desert/ whenever she chose
to be

VII
no one ever visited us in the dark house/ unless we
paid them/ one day an electrician/ came to fix the
faulty wiring/ he liked children/ he began speaking
to me without opening his mouth/ words came out of
his forehead/ he was a shy little man/ who claimed
to be psychic/ i could not trust him/ the same as i
could not trust/ the flushing toilet/ the draining
bath/ or the hanging witch/ in the hallway leading/
to the three dark bedrooms/ the electrician began
to tremble/ & sweat

VIII
he said/ that he could only tolerate/ being in the
kitchen/ but my mother said/ that the faulty wiring/
was in her bedroom/ in the end we found him in the
backyard/ hugging himself beneath the clothesline/
ectoplasm hanging from his chin/ my dog was
growling/ there was a strong hard wind/ from the
vacant block next door/ a few large prickles beneath
his skin/ he must have fallen from my father's
window/ none of us would go near him

IX
i have now left the dark house/ my mother left soon
after me/ she went flying down the street/ in the
opposite direction/ so that the silent threat upon
us both/ would follow her scent/ the last time i saw
her/ she was rushing away/ her back towards me/ in
pink satin slippers/ with her shawl wrapped around
her/ her dark hair blowing in wind/ the dark street
soon obscured our paths/ i was left in a stormy
world/ thorny rose bushes/ catching my thoughts/
with their scent

X
i see my father sulking in the dark house/ i try to
creep back/ to my mother's beast to suck/ i am
seeing a blind grey bat/ fitting snugly/ into its
milk fat mother's side/ i am seeing past the crimson
red brick/ to my father's bedroom/ to inside/ the day
we abandoned that house/ as newborns together/ i
could not cry/ but since that day i have wept
inside/ & lingered on that twilight street/ with
nothing but darkness/ to keep my world/ from
turning upside down

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

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