an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

Poems by Gail Ingram

1965

Gail Ingram

Published on
page 20 of Tarot #4
(June 2022)

cotton ties of the stiff gown
shiver down her bare back  as she tiptoes 
along corridors  holding
her stomach in   her wet bandaged chest
the long walls at night still
heavy white   close in 
on the pink poodle  clutched
in her left hand   Mimi
she named her   as she filled the legs
fine-combed the tuft
of her wool tail   over the curve
of her belly   she leaves
a trail of bright red drops   drip drip
down the inside of her legs   along the lino   
to here   
                        the breathing room   
pauses   in the quiet   
she slinks
along the lines   reads plastic tags
on the sides of metal cribs   finds
her eyes   wide open   
the swell of lightness 
pupil unfocused dream   undefined
shape of her eyebrows  of her
pink-splotch face   little cap and coddled   she takes all
the details in   whispers
three words across her cheek   the unbearable
milky smell of her   already 
and starch   she slips 
Mimi in   
the tight pocket between
her sheet and steel bars   leaves her 
there   in the crib   she
creeps away   the pull of her
cramping womb   for 
twenty two more years

Grieving Japanese man enters rain forest of Tai Poutini and finds a silver fern

Gail Ingram

Published on
page 48 of Tarot #4
(June 2022)

too
dark

 

 

 

only
sound

not
one

 

 

my
shoe

green
dark

everywhere
water

 

scuff


and
breath
birds
like
bells
in
an

but
many
layers

your
blackgreen
emblem
turns
to

drips
like
bluegreen
eyes
of
foreign
ghosts

see

he
weeps
she
weeps
we
weep
they
weep
you

empty
temple


eye
widens
on
its
own
accord

sky
your
silver
belly
faces
down
deep
like
carp
trembles
under
surface

right
through
you

clean
cold
stings
the
nose

drop
to
one
knee


little
spiral
child
in
hairy
heart
of
feather
fronds
I
find
you
in
strange
land

wake