Black

It was a black day
and it was a BLACK day
I, the newly widowed
clothed in blackbird feathers
Shining like a mirror
reflecting fallacies
not faces
Swathes of blackish sorrow
consumed my
eiderdown of grief
Whilst collective tears
pooling
at my crushed stiletto feet
like seas of emotional
effluent
How many truly cry
when others
snivel in consolation?

*

Coffins muffle the
sonority of
grieving mouths
Damping down the
exaggerated pulse of
blood red hearts
Barriers to paradise lost
remind the dead
not to breathe
For death is
breath without lungs
and mortality is life
without living

*

We didn’t have a church
for you would turn
in your fire-ash not-grave
Phoenix smiting from
the flames
the Godly fallacy
Singing godless psalms
of Elbow
and Eva Cassidy
I wished I’d listened
to your heart
for the reggae in your soul
I painted on my face
of have no feelings
Cherry lips set in
a rigor mortis pout
Spider eyes kept dry by
waterproof mascara
Emotion
Emotion
Emotion
Less

*

And my love is
ash
I am married to
a brown plastic urn
And the wedding rings
don’t fit anymore
Me with my
disconsolate finger
You with your hands
busy playing harps
in Heaven

©2020 Sarah Drury

Apart

Apart

It is a sad day
When the death knell tolls
When two hearts must part
Ripped out of alabaster ribs
With a gut wrench fist
For the sake of muffled lips
And clackety tongued convention

It is a sad day
When I say goodbye
to a love who never was in bloom
I never picked your rose
Just gazed upon a fearful bud
whose petals curled and sighed
in fearful rumination

It is a sad day
When voices fail to
sing our songs of truth
Chrysalis consumes the butterfly
Wings of trepidation
soaring in a universe of
haves and have nots

We have not

©2020 Sarah Drury

Pride

PRIDE

When I was a child
girls stole sugar kisses on boys’ muddy lips
Champagne toasts to wedded men and women
My friends all had mothers and fathers
even if they didn’t know them
My storybooks were full of handsome princes
kissing apple-lipped maidens
Pages after pages were bullshit laden
And the TV was full of girls with boys
and happy-ever-after heterosexuality
And that was the myth of sexuality
Back in the day

We hurled around ‘insults’ that our mates were lesbos
And the lads were gay
But we didn’t realise we were buying into
a system of bitter prejudice and discrimination
Witch hunts, gay shaming and condemnation
and I never thought that one day
I would be ‘them’

We never saw two female lips entwined in a loving kiss
or two males in a passionate embrace
Now it is still a spectacle
consigned to its own sordid category
a ‘perverted disgrace’
The older generation still hushly whisper
‘ooo he’s gay you know’ and oppose the notion
of gay adoption and media exposure
God forbid the media give their viewing a promotion
They still feel queasy to the stomach
when they see that love is not just
boy meets girl

I am glad we now live in a generation where
love is becoming less monochrome
Where the lgbt community can live a life less secluded and alone
And rainbows fill a sky of potential
for love and acceptance to prosper
Gay is becoming more mainstream
And we don’t cower ashamedly in molehills anymore

So why do I live life in a masquerade ball?
Partially disguised
Why so long to free myself from my trap of conventionality?
For the sake of convention and congeniality
I was caught up for years in the boy-girl story
Of the prince and princess happy ever after
Now I am awake and still feel the stigma
The sting of years of expectation
Like a queen in a PRIDE parade
Saying fuck you to the hetero charade
and wearing my mask
when I truly want to be
exposed and naked

©2020 Sarah Drury

Fake Friend

You all know the type!

You call yourselves a friend
Lipstick painted selfies
on your four caustic lips
of your two vitriolic mouths
of your two faceted faces
One eye as vigilant as
a ravenous hawk
Sparkling with the thrill
of intoxicating gossip
The other black
as an executioner’s hood
But faceless
unlike yourself
And I wait for the axe
to fall

I bear witness to your
two faced vitriol
Your Fakebook falsity
Your P’interest pretensions
Your Instagram irony
Your five hundred followers
your two thousand likes
Insert love heart emoji
Vomit

There is no angel
for a back stabbing bitch
As you wield your
Gordon Ramsey knife
and carve a noxious laceration
in my spine
But you are the spineless one
Your bones are brittle
with back fence talk
The fishwives would
make a place for you
at their table
Gutting their fish like
you gut my nonchalance
The ocean is teeming with haddock
Too many for the women
with the clackety clack tongues.
And too many for you
my dear

©2020 Sarah Drury

Mother is a Hustler

My mother
Would be Virgin Mary
If she had blue robes
And a school nativity baby Jesus
And a halo
Half price
From the dressing up section
In Tesco
And on her age worn face
Is always worn a smile
As valuable as the Mona Lisa
With NHS teeth

She has no notions of grandeur
And no one is beneath her
Her kindness knows no perimeters
And if Jesus
Had been wandering
Our beaten tracks
He would’ve been
Out of a job
And signing on
At the DWP

She serves burgers
For the big Maccy D’s
Tomato ketchup with a side
Of joy on your cholesterol fries
It gets her knees
But living off her pension
Gets her pocket
And eBay is so addictive

She plays the saints
At their game
She was dealt a shitty hand
But holds those cards
Like a seasoned hustler
And when her time comes
I know she’ll
Be showing God
The true meaning
Of love

©2020 Sarah Drury