Artemis

i.
As Artemis wept,
            alone, alert,
            we leapt.

 
ii.
There is always an
absence on the wall;
a sunlit barren
palette.
We scrawl

water figurines
as the sun stalls
over cobbled scenes.
Childhood calls

from a house made
of quiet corners
and hidden moments played
at her apron skirts.

 
iii.
You would take us out
driving in that beaten-up
old three-door,
            bought for a song
            as you read Ibsen and James.

Out of the city. Down twisting lanes,
beyond which the land’s greatness
whiled away the years in furious slumber.

Great hedgerows lay
passive, learning from
the burden of their years.

The land was gently tilled,
ripe with rape and lavender,
the comfort of dying days.

She says: ‘you fuss pot,’
curling daisies underfoot.
The sun blazes for her
            and she blazes for the day.

J. D. Dixon is a London-born, Glasgow-based novelist, poet and playwright. His debut novel, The Unrivalled Transcendence of Willem J. Gyle (Thistle, 2017) was shortlisted for the Somerset Maugham Award (2018) by the Society of Authors, among other accolades. The judges called it ‘powerful and brutal’, whilst The IndieView labelled it ‘lyrical and haunting.’

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Artemis

  1. Stan Galloway says:

    intelligent and evocative.

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