Bleeding Knuckles

Alison Eastley

Bee's juice is used in jelly 
squirted from a plastic tube, the one 
you left next to my underwear.

I found it after you said my face 
was inscrutable when I concentrate 
outside where kookaburras 

sit on the rusty swing. It's impossible 
when you say I look sad, 
mention it isn't fair I won't explain 

why some of my faces 
are ancient as rage without considering
my other faces glow after sex 

or with anticipation of seeing you 
again. It's hard being close with all 
this distance like the time spent shopping 

and later, in the kitchen, slowly basting 
lamb shanks because you said 
it was your favourite food.

The knuckles cut, meat fell off the bone
when you phoned. You said you 
were tired and cranky and did I mind 

if I didn't see you for a while.
I have bees juice used in jelly. 
I removed it from the bedroom drawer, 

tidied up the rest of the room.
It's now so quiet, you won't hear 
me yell, let alone talk.