Half Drunk Muse Poetry


Watching the Fire by Julie Platt

Matte gray silk shot
through with amber-red
flies out between the boards.
There’s a mad weaver
inside the house, stirred
to breath by the kiss
of a cigarette.
The sound of murmured thunder
pulls away what we know to do.

Right now, we do not fear disease
in the still water, the bulging
belly of a brown-eyed child,
or the cyclone at midday.
Not in this air.

We forget to carry water,
to sound the town bell.
Instead we remember flush
and break of first sex, or a sister,
lost now, who was more alive
than God.

View bio for Julie Platt Published in Spring 2004

About HDM

Half Drunk Muse was one of the first poetry ezines. It was founded in 1999 and ceased publication in 2006.

Questions/comments? Email samiller@halfdrunkmuse.com.