With one hand grasping tight the telephone,
She would tug your wrist, wait for you to wake
And mouth, ‘the python won’t leave me alone.’
So scared, but the Social couldn’t condone
What she threw at you to make your jaw ache,
Unstopped by hands grasping for the telephone.
And now she’s in a care home to atone,
Unseen by son or rain – just pills to take.
She knows the python won’t leave her. Alone
You sit slumped for hours, the Beeb and hailstones
Preventing silence, watching your body quake,
Those hands can’t grasp hold of the telephone
When articulated muscle tracks your backbone
To crack a sigh from ribs that will not break.
It’s come; the python won’t leave you alone.
Maybe you hear a scythe grate the whetstone,
Accepting that DNR. Do you smile, shake
With a hand that couldn’t grasp a telephone
And mouth, ‘the python won’t leave me alone’?
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Published by alyssiaonline
Alyssia MacAlister is a writer, editor, artist and mother, who lives with her partner in Brighton. On both page and stage, Alyssia is concerned with exploring narratives with a poetic frame, finding the beautiful in the strange. In writing she can find unspoken traumas and the meanings behind silences. Wide-ranging past interests include virtual reality and the female body, spiders and grief. Alyssia’s specialty is prose poetry, but she often works in found poetry and experiments with more traditional verse. In addition, Alyssia writes lucid fiction and essays, while also creating artwork mostly in pencil. She also has a scalpel eye for editing any kind of poetry or prose and can produce poetry workshops.
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