Quick, To the Hothouse / Jane Flett
Quick, To The Hothouse
dancing girl press, 2012
Jane Flett was awarded the Scottish Book Trust New Writer Award in 2009 and promptly quit her job managing a music venue in order to spend more time swanning around in a silk bathrobe, tinkering away at words and playing synthpunk cello in a gameboy band. Unfortunately, this has proved to be less lucrative than expected.
This Cowgirl’s Lament
A tornado and peacock were bred in his paddock;
the couple gave birth to a turquoise lasso.
It lapped round my heart, soft as oil, iridescent,
and I gave up right then on stacked shelves and school.
I fled to a ranch that was smitten with roses,
where buttercups bucked amongst horses and whips.
I learned to smoke Camels which glowed red at sunset,
a circle of fire like a solar eclipse.
My cowboy drank moonshine and kissed like a comet
his lips were chipotle, his tongue was cayenne.
He blacked both my eyes for a bet with the mountains
and locked my heart out of his opium den.
I guess he was a Mustang, his temperament feral,
he needed horizons upon which to roam.
When I scattered my Tarot, it came up the Priestess,
so I bandaged my bleeding, and headed for home.
Given / Emiliegh Barnes