Malapropos, my slow mind & mouth

play cyclamen-chlamydia-Clytemnestra


like a musical scale. It embarrassed you

once when I only meant flowers,


only then meant something

of how things turn, on & against –


Tender is the morning

quiet, leaves gently


offering their shapes open

to small hands: hello. Here, gloss & flesh


sudden in the glass;

waves come through sails or sky;


the cat turns to gull or glimpse

of fox. The maiden a crone


like some plain punchline. I knew this

before I ever did.



Image: Gabrielle Ludlow / flickr 




Jo Langdon

Jo Langdon writes fiction and poetry. She is the author of two poetry collections, Snowline (Whitmore Press, 2012) and Glass Life (Five Islands Press, 2018), and her recent fiction appears in journals including Griffith Review and Westerly. Jo lives on unceded Wadawarrung land in Geelong/Djillong.

More by Jo Langdon ›

Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places.

If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate.

Related articles & Essays