“The Old Department” and “The Early Hours” by Louise Macgregor
The Old Department
The floors are cracked and white;
No windows. Corridors are long. Dry.
I can tell, they were handsome once- strong jaws, hairlines hidden under sparks,
Grey scribbled out with dye.
The toe of my pretty leather girl’s shoe catches, and I trip-
My thoughts thrown, I try to remember where I’ve been. An old dream
Beats behind every door and leeching screen.
The Early Hours
Our backs move like fins in shadows,
Half-light growing, birds singing as if they don’t know we’re hunters,
You bite with dry teeth.
I arch against the damp air,
Garrulity unraveling to a small cry
And words to syllables and sounds.
We move to a beat like poetry,
Eyes closed, lost in your cadence, my staccato note.
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