The fleeting image of a woman triggers memories of an abusive relationship, leaving a grieving speaker to reflect on the painful necessity of separation, in this hauntingly beautiful poem by Marina Scott.
Out of the Dream House
after Carmen Maria Machado
I saw a woman who looked like you on
the bus &, for a moment, felt how things
were, back then, before distance sat its
leaden anchor between us. the old, plain
rhythms of our days, turning sound over
in our mouths as if for the first time, our
hearts child-like, wide open, feeling newfound
intonations, echoing each other
this world into sense. I walk along these
streets, breathe in the architecture of us
& soundlessly scream for a way to reach
you. you are in the dream house, never quite
awake. your poor sick heart, your poor sick heart
greets the chloroform unknowingly &
cleaves, cleaves in two again and again and —
if I could write a long prescription
a song
send you an omen
a mirror in a field
birdsong in perpetual dawn —
you’re hurting and I am not an ocean
my lips are blue and I’m drying up
About Marina Scott
Marina Scott is a writer who grew up in Cornwall by the sea. They are currently based in South East London where they work remotely for a literary festival. They hold a degree in English Literature from the University of Cambridge and have published work with Antithesis Journal, SPAM Zine and Polyester Zine. They can be found @marina_scott and via Twitter @marinascott_.
