Living Together

We have been wandering

inside

at a distance

for weeks.

And the clouds are tired

of being clouds.

They turn their backs

and lump in layers the colour

of dirty mop water

but never rain,

only the feeling

of needing to sneeze.

Toothbrushes fall

on the bathroom floor,

there is no space

in the fridge

but there is space

on the outside of it:

Total Amount Due

(If paid after due date)

$287.26.

Moths cling

to the electric light

above the table.

Some go dry

and stiff and die

but stay stuck there,

one for every hole

of quiet we no longer

seem to fill.

I try

my best

in your room:

sometimes leaving notes or poems,

sometimes leaving the washing unfolded,

sometimes leaving at 8.15am.

Ponsonby Road

Perhaps she knows I’m unsure

about whether to hug with two arms

or one. That it would be nice

to still talk about things – when I poured her

a cup of tea and said to wait a few minutes

for the leaves to infuse, she held out

a light palm: olive; and what we don’t remember –

the meanings of conversation, a different island,

the laptop screen carelessly open.

Leaning against a lamppost,

I watch her turn into the half-lit street.

The red bulbs of taxis glow in spaces

where the night has come to an end;

lines of well dressed twenty-somethings

shuffle on. I watch her go

down and down until she begins to flicker,

the road tied into her hair, until she

is small enough to hold in my fingers.

Tim Grgec

Tim Grgec is a postgraduate student of English Literature at Victoria University who writes poems when he's supposed to be writing essays.