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  November 2013
volume 10 number 2
-table of contents-
 
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  Lynn Albanese
  Jonathan Beale
  Michael Caylo-Baradi
  Charles Claymore
  Christiane Con√©sa-Bostock
  Flavia Cosma
  Gareth Davies
  Diane Dehler
  Maurice Devitt
  Tyler Dupuis
  Sabrina Edwards
  Neil Ellman
  R.M. Engelhardt
  Rebecca Gimblett
  Jeffrey Graessley
  John Grey
  James Hall
  A J Huffman
  Lee Mason
  Deborah McCreath-Akbar
  Tom O'Reilly
  Angel Uriel Perales
  Frank Praeger
  Kevin Ridgeway
  Walter Ruhlmann
  Howard Sage
  John Saunders
  Allen Taylor
  Sarah Thursday
  Philomena van Rijswijk
  Daniela Voicu
 
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Rebecca Gimblett
November 2013
   

 

bio


art by paradoxius

    Rebecca Gimblett is a vagabond poet. She currently resides in Ireland but writes herself into at least ten other worlds. She has been previously published in Bare Hands Journal for both her photography and poetry, short-listed for publication in Miracle E-Zine, and was long-listed for The Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2013.

   

 

First

That we are the people we are and that we live here.
That in this moment, the northern lights hang gently, beating off angels.
The sky solders spotlights to stars, you taste like fireworks at sunset,
red and blues.
That we are in this bubble perambulating this iron fence,
facilitating the world to entertain us, that hearts arenít hearts.
Hands arenít hands any more, bread dances around us and we are steadfast, we are of the earth.
We built a temple from love letters and bills pinned to your wall.
That we settled our debts in a single, double and triple movement. Silhouetting every vessel, bursting from every cell, every moment. My fourteen year old inner self
and your fourteen year old inner self went back in time and met.
Baptised, forgave, absolved absolutely.
That we birthed galaxies, doubled the size of empires. You a god, the father, a projection screen tuned to the universe, only for me.
I was roses first.
Before a goddess, before a mother, before a commander in chief.
Roses.
A starburst strung to my ribcage,
a vagabond sitting on my shoulder. A sunset warming the spine of my back,

like your tongue.

You told me you would take on any giant with nothing but fists and a hammer
for me, you told me the soldiers on the walls
were mine too, you created whales, elephants, apples
all for me.

By 5, we clicked our fingers in unison - not to the leaders of the free world.
Not to the good men. Not just in time
to the music, but to the honour of the finest of parties,
to the swell of our hours.
That we were us, these people and we were here, in this bubble.
That we will never forget this, the sunset,
this, the laughter of the universe, this,
the vagabond prayer of rangers and dragons,
blooming in kismet,
the season of falling.

copyright 2013 Rebecca Gimblett