A blackout haibun.
“I wish to God you could understand me.”
– Brian Friel, Translations
Unmuzzle. _______________ Put that mind on your cuff. In the garden, _______________, I will __________ only hear a garbled radio. ___________ towels on the line, bellowing against the wind. ________ phrases deliquesced to one. Loose-______-lyrics? Lacklustre-love-letters? Manic? Mechanical? Native? Neutral? ________? I ask another question. _______ your back to me. Put on the kettle; waiting for fumes to ring. Black as a siren-song. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Begging someone to speak. The click. ___________ water’s boiled. Condensation prohibits glass occupants watching us. ______, they listen. Nothing. You said _______. You didn’t say anything.
Death of translations—
Last branch falls to forest floor.
Woven mouths. Silence.
–
Jessica Berry grew up in Bangor, Northern Ireland. She is an English teacher in Belfast. In 2021, Jessica was placed in Bangor’s annual poetry contest hosted by the Aspects Literary Festival. Her work has also been included in publications such as Drawn to the Light and A New Ulster.