Jill Jones

“You forget whole years, and not necessarily the least important ones.”
— Javier Marías, The Dark Back of Time
 
1. Hold On
 
The song isn’t as loud
as you think it should be
 
It accompanies the road
nonetheless
 
You hear it in the rain
 
Hang on, even a cicada has got
its dream rhythm
 
That walks with you
through the door
 
After you’ve crossed the river
look back, it’s passed you
 
The notes trail
 
Its attributes are lies and truth
the clash of pasts
 
 
2. I’m Coming
 
I can’t give you any more
although the weir overflows
 
And here in my pockets
another flow
 
Of cellophane, an old musket
a slide rule, seed catalogues, powers
 
The river rises
in the hundred year flood
 
There’s something planetary
in the moan of levees
 
I lay my hands on
evidence changing gears
 
My logbook is full of
sneaky miles
 
The lie is of the tongue
 
And I would kiss you with it
when I come
 
 
3. Fields of Wheat
 
The hour is a vast frontier
moving into day.
In it I spent a year
and then a decade
moving you all around.
 
It was all down to
bad timing at a desk
the design of borders
a lack of motivation and petrol
and now the Russians have come
with gold lame g-strings
and a kind of unattractive
comedy
that beats queuing.
 
I know these are dreams of salvage
and dawn the rescue hour
climbing stairs into duties.
But the orders are confused
and nothing seems to grow.
 
I ask the Russians for true grain
and a giant sleigh
but it’s become too warm
and foghorns tumble.
 
It is each according to need
and the sun strikes up the band.
 
 
4. Bird on the Run
 
Somewhere the war
is outside my window
showing on a graph
heart-shaped
and inevitable.
 
But I do not roar in pain
yet.
 
I am waiting for the birds
then I’ll know.
They are not a chorus.
They do not know
how to come home.
They no longer bear
the message.
 
Which is why
 
I jump the sill
I jump the rocket launcher.
 
I jump the map
 
and it bears me.
 
Hear my wings!
 
 
5. Flesh and Spark
 
And when I came
to you
it was raining
 
We had to be covered
in something other
than ink-black night
 
The guitars had all drifted
in their boats
animals were nervous
 
If we don’t get access
there’s still
recall, its open moment
 
Along the curled map
of seeds
and their prices
 
Among the shot
the falling lead
and winged cartography
 
There, let us have
our doubts
we grave them secret skins
 
Though covered
they tell flesh
and spark
 
 
6. Unusual
 
The air fills with
petrichor
after rain on sandstone.
 
It’s unusual, and we must
speak it
this drought, this daring.
 
It will be fire.
It will be cord and rope.
We’ll sing it long.
 
The war wasn’t a lie.
The bombs dropped … so.
And near where you told me.
 
Trace it on the sheet
and this once
dream it on the beach.
 
Then outside awakened
again we walk in the depth
of field.