by Joel LeBlanc

 

A voice sings a lullaby: “The animals
went in two by two, Hurrah! Hurrah!”

Noah is drunk in the corner,
grieving the past, he thought the ark

would make him happy.

Naamah is washing her blood-dried
hands in the sink, after stitching up

a sheep mauled by the dogs.

I’m standing not far away, staring
at the old peacock, lifeless in the dirt.

They forgot to feed it.

A year ago it lived in a pōhutukawa tree,
tattooed with monster eyes and

screaming with joy.

Noah tells me to sit still, be quiet,
glowering at me from his chair.

Naamah nervously tells me
to pretend to be happy, to smile.

The flood would have been easier.

I miss friendships, sports, cinemas, going
to school, learning about the world,

and not being trapped with enemies.

I need to mourn the dead before the
world rots inside me, before they

forget to feed me too.

In my dreams I live on a green hill,
with soft dry earth, gardens,

and birds.

I pour coffee on the ground, lay flowers,
scratch epitaphs onto stones,

wooden crosses, the sea.

In my dreams, I speak to my father
in a magic voice that sobers him,

flaying his self-pity into red dust:

feed the horses, check the water dishes,
be kind, stop raising your hand to the dog,

learn to love the work of loving,

sheer the sheep, fix the fences, weed the
convolvulus before it devours us all,

save the goldfish from their green prison,

and don’t let the chickens die alone
in the dust of their filthy coop.

They were gods once.

 

 

 

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Joel LeBlanc (he/him) is a poet, freelance writer, reviewer, baker, and herbalist based in Wellington, New Zealand. His poems have appeared in various publications, including Takahē, Poetry NZ, Semaphore, Tarot, Aotearoa Poetry Yearbook, and more. His twitter and Bluesky are @cottageinwood