Under Glass
Small taxidermies and two house wrens, a trumpet made of brass, the wax anatomical heart, red. Leafless tree of birds, rabbit’s head, sparrow, shell and moth. A clutch of men’s collars, a wayward glove. The leaning tower of Pisa, the Coliseum, a cardboard British museum in a blue egg nest. Skeletal seahorse spines, curled foetus, paper, ink and quill, songs for a hoopoe, twenty seven cotton reels and a corset unravelled. Threads of rain, condensation’s ash, your finger’s touch. Fir cones and dandelion clocks. The two-headed calf from the freak show. Hooks, keys and mould. Plants that survive the dark, curiosities and Sylvia Plath. Fraying ballet shoes, a trapped bee, coral fans and the Cottingley fairy. Cloud, a slaughterhouse made of glass. Closed mouth and floating head, the child’s pose, parasols, prayers for the dead, a family of dolls like those that lined my bed, with shell and seaweed surround. The glassblower’s breath on last year’s hyacinth bulb.
Avril Joy
