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Sonja Broderick

One Weak Moment

I closed my eyes.
When I peered again
To my surprise,
Two inviting tablets
Graced my palm.

Before I knew it,
They were climbing down my neck
To happy heaven.
Spinning me and twisting my jaw.
Sweet ecstasy pulls and tears at me,
Forces me to smile
Numbs my cerebrum.

Whole days later,
When I return to language,
I utter that ‘never again’
For social acceptance
And wait
Until chemicals rape me again.

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What to Wear

Skin-close, stretched crimson,
to be gently peeled above my head,
with delicate finger quiver
down over exposed skin,
bumps spike with surge of endorphin,
trembles puctuate each cell,
your hand moves soft
over the heated swell.

Or black crepe, torn violent
to its shredded end,
rip-break of fabric,
no cloth spared, flung aside
with slap and throw,
a bomb onto the sheets,
rapid pulse-pump on the creases.

What choice relieves a passion's howl,
the red dress or the black?

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Lost On The Seventh

I’ve played the message you left a thousand times
about our next meeting on Oxford Street.

I see the last flick of your eyes when we said goodbye
after one too many gins, many too few now.

The sweater you left is washed
so you can wear it when you call back next.

Wish I hadn’t now, but I bought your cologne,
maybe I’ll spray it soon, and I wait.

Your voice recording still cheers a joke,
I choke when the beep prompts a future chat.

No words now.

A windswept graduation snap flaps outside Aldgate.

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Child Syria

235 today
you will not stop
I hold something
you cannot take
child Syria runs through me

greed can take my arms, hymen, joy

shoot and rape me
terror lord you may try to tame me
I will live and leave you behind
Syria will score your anger
into history

you dare and tear me
my tears run in the river
of blood, spilling shame on
your family, your child will cry
rivers for the dry earth

[...] Read more

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Dress Rehearsal

I can still smell you
and the dull drum
sits in my chest.

You tore through my dream
draped in wanting for me,
eluded by your wedding band
which you’d curiously lost.

We shared a glance, quite aware of
the ominous metaphor.

I wonder what it might have been like
to be your wife.

I see you with her sometimes
and remember the night when you said
you knew.
You just knew you would
marry me someday.

[...] Read more

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