|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
So they just sat there,
pretending that the silence was the result of their search for an answer.
He probably knew for sure, but
she could only try to know.
A fat bird flew down from out of nowhere, and tried to force its head into a tiny hole in the
ground.
When the bird finally flew away,
they were back to just sitting there,pretending.
Even when the lion came and ate the boys arms;
and when the snake spat into her eyes and instantly blinded her,
all he did, was use his voice to see what she could not,
and all she did was use her heart to feel what his hands could not.
They just sat there.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
I thought about you this afternoon,
Just as I usually do when my mind wonders into the past.
I think I saw your face
And I might have heard your voice,
But I know for sure I lived your story.
The story that You wrote for My life,
You know it, you've told it many times I'm sure.
It was normal, just like every other time I thought about it.
The only difference this time, was that I jumped from frame to frame,
Without feeling. I played out each scene sometimes more than twice;
trying to find something deeper than an image in which I stared at you- and you stared beyond me.
But there was nothing.
I felt nothing.
Through my mind's eye I saw, I heard, I smelt, I touched and I tasted
but I felt
nothing.
If emotions had once clouded every thought that had culminated into these things that I called Memories
then at that moment Myself, Your story, and Our story sat side by side in the most frightful state of clarity anyone could ever know.
I think the phone rang.
I snapped out of it.
But the questions remained,
“Why?”
“Was it real?”
“Did I even care?”
I don’t have the answers,
And I don’t think I need them.
For now, I'm happy to let my mind wonder back to you
And feel nothing.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
He hung out alone in his room most of the time
with his door locked,quiet.
He had a name. A short and simple one, that nobody could remember. Maybe it was Ken, or
Tom - something like that.
Yeah, the boy everybody made fun of
beacuse his Mummy had stiched his name onto the back of his PE bag.
Not just that, he had all his books perfectly coverered, I remember beacuse I used to hand
them out in the mornings.
He never came back to school after the holidays.
Jess said it was because he got sent to juvie for trying to butcher his Mum with the garden
spade. She heard that he was one of those "messed up kids," who finally flipped out. Huey,
agreed and said that it was only a matter of time before it happened.
According to Mia, she heard that his Mum was just standing there, when he came up from
behind and attacked her. She heard there was blood all over the place.
Everyone heard everything.
When our teacher came over to ask who we were talking about,
Jess said Ken.
Huey said Tom.
Mia said Bill.
Confused, they stared at eachother
then turned to the class, perhaps searching for the answer.
Everyone else, shrugged.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2009
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
You cannot tell Me
not to run
just because My shoelace is undone.
Do You not remember
that the time We rode Our bikes
Together,
it was My helmet You borrowed?
Tell Me not Your concerns
when You care not of Mine.
For it is too late now,
the race has begun
and I am almost finished.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
“Actually, I’d rather not” I thought.
“Go through all that hassle for what?”
Nobody answered.
The chairs were empty and the phone line dead.
A cracked shell on a bed of feathers,
I heard the crickets sound.
A glistening pearl hung from the jewellery box,
reflecting the silver of the moon.
Icy winds, forced their way through the cracks
and I felt the cold seep slowly into my chest.
I’ll never forget that night because of how empty it all seemed.
And you, you just walked right into my hole,
singing a song about life
watching my eyes for the shadows of a tune.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
Coughed up slowly,
the heart struggles towards the tongue
soon through the teeth
and onto your fire.
then it warms.
But warmth is a false comfort.
It causes the heart to harden
cooks all my emotions, firmly.
into a stiff bite that yields no excess water.
That's what you said the night you gorged on the core of my love.
My life.
You called it tasteless.
You, over whose fire I burnt.
Look now, there's more you left on your plate.
Can't you see the skin?
Can't you smell the blood?
Eat my darling.
Your face tells me that you are still hungry.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
My knee was really itchy one day
And as I bent over to give it a scratch,
I caught sight of a hole in the floor.
It was a big hole.
Kneeling on all fours, I stared down into the ground.
There wasn’t a sound
And I couldn’t see much, so I asked you to pass me the candle on the table.
You gave me the rope too and promised to hold it tight as I lowered myself down to have a look.
When I got down there, it turned out there was no secret wonderland like in the movies.
It was just a hole that led to the basement.
Later that night just before we sat down for dinner,
I felt that itch come back
And this time as I bent over to give it a scratch,
There was a loud THUD in the attic above.
‘Quickly’ you said, ‘I’ll grab the candle and hold the ladder up for you.’
When I got up there, I realised that our cat Dixy had knocked over the old curtain rails we took down from the guest room.
Alone, I finally gave my knee a quick scratch.
I remember taking a second to think about why I had to be the one to check it out both times,
Why didn’t we go together?
Why weren’t you ahead of me?
Why weren’t you beside me?
‘You might want to hurry up, I think the oven is going off!’ You screamed.
So I hurried down.
As we lay in bed, I felt you shiver as a cold gust rang through the bedroom.
I waited to feel your arms curl around me,
But you just pulled the covers closer around your body.
When I told you that I was warmer than the duvet could ever be, you didn’t respond.
When I told you that my knee was still itchy and that maybe something had bitten me, you didn’t respond.
When I told you all the questions I’d asked myself while up in the attic earlier, you still didn’t respond.
I know you were awake.
We both were.
Neither of us slept that night.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
And there she sat,
At the very back of the classroom alone on a single desk
With only that little red pencil case for company,
Watching.
Skittetty Skatt did this often.
She liked her seat in Class B13, right at the back
away
away from Whitney’s hairspray
Away from Shay’s notepad
Away.
The thing is with Skittetty Skatt, was that she really didn’t want to wear the mismatched socks.
She didn’t mean to end up with neon green hair,
And she certainly didn’t mean for it to get caught up in the feathers on that blue scarf she wore.
It’s just that she actually didn’t own anything in pairs,
And pretty colours like all the others.
She didn’t have any mirrors at home,
So doing her hair in the mornings wasn’t an easy thing.
One afternoon, as Skittetty Skatt mixed up chemicals of every kind in the lab,
There was a huge explosion
Bang
The entire building was up in flames.
Everybody died.
The school had to be shut down.
So Skittetty Skatt bought a desk just like the one she had in B13 and put it up against her bedroom wall.
She sat there every morning,
Watching.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
Draw a circle on a blank page and tell me what you see.
Now slip that page into an empty book, somewhere near the end and close it.
The book doesn’t have a title does it?
No pictures.
Flip through the blank pages, slowly.
Make sure you take the time to feel the emptiness on each and every page.
Don’t worry you won’t need too much light.
Aha! There’s the circle!
Glad you finally found it aren’t you?
Look at it.
See how it starts over there, goes all the way around and comes back again.
Look at it again
and again
and again.
Are you still excited about finding the circle?
Why? You knew the book was blank didn’t you?
What else did you expect to find?
It’s getting late now, you need to leave.
Give me my book back
That circle you drew doesn’t belong to you, and neither do those pages.
How can they, it was my idea wasn’t it?
All you had to do was press hard enough to really make a mark.
Tonight, you will leave me with this book,
this circle
that you drew for me.
You will walk out into the night and see the stars.
And I’ll be here where you found me,
‘reading’ again.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Francesca Cabral Poem
You can’t keep doing that you know.
Doing what?
That.
What?
What you just did.
What did I just do?
You threw me into the wall again
No I didn’t.
Yes you did.
When?
Look, you’re doing it again.
No I’m not.
Yes you are.
Prove it.
How?
You tell me.
There’s blood on the floor for Christ’s sake!
Where?
There.
Where?
Here.
You wouldn’t know that.
Why?
You’re not here.
Yes I am.
No you’re not.
Don’t you see me?
No.
Don’t you hear me?
I heard you once.
When?
I think you called out for me.
I did?
Yes.
I want to call out for you again.
I know.
Shall we give it a go?
Yes.
When?
Whenever.
Ok.
Copyright © Francesca Cabral | Year Posted 2012
|
|