Gavin Yates: Two Poems


i look for you walking through
the yellow door and you are the puddles
in the gutters and the street light in the puddles
as i drive my parents to the airport
which hasn’t happened yet i just know
it’s about to happen and i know
there will be traffic and i won’t
be home until later on tonight


Outside the consonance is discomposed
by winter’s loom. When love forgets what it can do
the body curls like a fern, faces old and new
uproot the orchid of a glass bulb; can turn the water green
and force us to explain. To see ourselves on the surface:
a bottle top dancing on the tiles.
I love this phase in a left hand but have seen it darker
earlier than usual in other places. Seen it darker
when the clouds fall grave with tired acceptance
when all we have to do is be brave.

Gavin Yates is from Melbourne, Australia. He is a doctoral candidate with Monash University, researching Surrealism and Australian poetry. His poetry features in Broadkill Review, Cordite Poetry Review, Snorkel, Tincture Journal, Verge, Westerly, among others. In 2017, Gavin co-edited Verge: Chimera (Monash University Publishing); and occasionally tweets @isgavinyates

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