Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
Birthday letters
Gently shutting the door,
As if it was an untended laundry
Hiding my dirty skin shaped linens
In preparation for some prying relative
Who might wander by saying,
“oh, it must be hard for you to juggle
so much”, pity dripping acid stains
Burning borer scalds through the floor.
No, this is not what I have done.
Not for you:
I shut the door
Sealing a tomb a womb a caul a foundation stone
The hidden entrance to some Aladdin cave
You – you – the every treasure we have all
Squandered and hunted
I sealed you in
So that later, when they excavate this
Temporary empire
They will unearth you
You the most previous stone
The finest faceted jewel through which
We can see light as light intended its refraction
I sealed you in
To worship
And then to be sealed up with you
Terracotta soldier Egyptian slave
Concubine and chattel alike
Companion animal
And fool.
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