Two Poems by Geraldine Clarkson

Consider the Lilies

The Vicar plucked a bulb
which had begun to sprout—
but then arrested—
and put it in his pocket,
warm and dark. In time,
tendrils poked bravely
round the buckle of his belt
and later tickled through
the opening of his trouser-hem;
and when, in spring, a frilly
gale of hyacinth
exuded when he knelt
for morning prayer,
he blushed, rose,
and intoned, ‘Man blooms
like the flower of the field…’
One of the choir-ladies swooned.

Banana-blonde Beata

Banana-blonde and soft-
faced, she works at the deli,
‘Deli-Cious’. Shush, she says to
incoming males (who giggle
and jiggle over her salamis),

as if this were her church,
and the meated weight
of this counter—set with
bread and white-fleshed
cheese—were her altar.

She is vested in
polyester, her breast
branded with the ‘Deli-Cious’
logo, serving but not
servile, savante.

She works her charm
on dim-eyed ladies
and coaxes pounds
from their purses stuffed
with lists and dust

in return for stuffed pounds
of game, or tenderised loin
deftly handled, thin
as a memory in its
translucent wrap.

She takes their prayers
and offers them
like incense, smoked
to high heaven.
Ushers them out with

murmurs, slipping in
a pot of salmon mousse
here and there where
need is greatest. Bids them
be blessed, feast, ciao.

Geraldine Clarkson’s most recent publication is Medlars (Shearsman Books, 2023) and her third full collection, Dream Island Home for Isabelle Huppert, is forthcoming from Verve Poetry Press.