Monday, 25 November 2013
A poem by Claire Dyer
She’d no idea when the deal was done
it would be like this:
when, salt shaken from her hair,
she rose with waters and black lace,
eyes violet, sparked; when she
shed a thousand years
and he’d called her by another name,
he’d called her avatar.
Since then: seconds, minutes build to hours
until it’s been one week, two.
And she keeps busy with small details:
laundry, time at the stove,
journeys here, there and back again
but, the air’s thundered,
he is a hundredweight of gone,
a voice in all rooms, calling.
Claire Dyer has been published in magazines and anthologies and her first full collection, Eleven Rooms, is published by Two Rivers Press. Claire’s debut novel, The Moment, is out now with Quercus and The Perfect Affair is forthcoming from Quercus in March 2014.
She is Chairperson of Reading Writers and is undertaking an MA in Poetry at Royal Holloway, University of London. Claire lives just outside Reading and her website is: www.clairedyer.com