Villanelle Competition Entry: Fourteen

Live
Live or die, but don’t poison everything …

I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift
Anne Sexton

I cut my writing arm – the blood was red
as poppies or that torrid anteroom –
but faced my rage and fended off the dead.

I still recall exactly what I said:
‘I’m fucking tired of all this doom and gloom.’
I cut my writing arm – the blood was red.

I staggered to the river, legs like lead,
determined to outshine the dragon’s plume,
but faced my rage and fended off the dead.

I didn’t leave a trail of crumbled bread –
no use, I’m not returning from this tomb.
I cut my writing arm – the blood was red.

I curled my arms and knees and tucked my head,
pretending that I’d never left the womb,
but faced my rage and fended off the dead.

The cataracts were lanced, a skin was shed,
and now, like Fate, I dominate my loom.
I cut my writing arm – the blood was red –
but faced my rage and fended off the dead.

Stuart Barnes