Jane Draycott – The Stare


Jane Draycott
The Stare

Outside our block of flats the moon
has planted itself like a searchlight
flooding in through our Indian curtains and neat
Japanese-style blinds and onto the film sets
of all our stacked-up living rooms.

Caught in some small act we are drowned
in its platinum stare (my own room glows,
its forest of furniture, the deep ocean blue
of the carpet ) not looking, just letting us know
it’s there. After all, life must go on.

Soon it won’t just be hanging around
out there, it’ll climb right in and carry
this body of mine out to the freezing air,
past the suburbs, the Ministry of Global Affairs,
up to the region of gathering winds.

It’ll be like a giant’s delicate hand.
I’ll be like a winged horse ride.
It’ll be like a police searchlight.