Your yearning. A weight
you birthed over
and over. You hauled

yourself through bronze,
from every version of exile
an arc

of limb, your hair
knotted with fury
and gleam. You were too savage

in your grace. Untamed,
too much a man in the colossal
precision of your hands.

How suddenly
they held nothing
but the white-air

of asylum. Fog heavy
as marble, still
as death.

Gemma Nethercote Way

 

Gemma Nethercote Way is a Creative Writing student at the University of Canberra.

© 2019