Mocco Wollert: ‘A Dry Leaf’, ‘Caressing You’ and ‘Anzac Biscuits’

A dry leaf

All that is left is a dry brown leaf,
marked by tiny teeth marks.
My hand trembles as I hold it,
those marks talk to me, tell me of her joy.
She loved leaves, would sit for hours
in front of the flywire door watching
brown, dry leaves dancing in
little eddies on the side of the house,
beating a cantata of brittleness.
I hold the leaf and I feel her,
a coat softer than possum fur.
She was small but feisty, her voice
penetrating my mind, my peace.
I still hear her in the sounds of the house
when it moves in the heat, the wind;
a ghostly, faint meow.

Marco Wollert

Caressing you

Caressing you
I feel the tremor
of vibrating stars,
the softness
of snow settling on grass.

Your caresses
light fires in me
burning away air,
taking words and wetness,
exploding.

I crave your caresses
afterwards
before we slip gently
into the darkness
of satisfaction.

Mocco Wollert

Anzac biscuits

I ate the last biscuit
and the plastic container
looked at me sadly
while I made the disclaimer:

they would have gone stale
because he is gone.
I only bought them for him
so no more from now on.

No more of music, dances,
his hand on my breast,
tearlessly I watched him leave,
exchange prison for rest.

No more Anzac biscuits,
and I finished the wine,
but I kept his old blanket
that smells faintly of pine.

Marco Wollert