welcome home, starling

you are safe now



A page almost flew out of my notebook

on the top of that building, as

if to say, as if to cry –

“Here is you falling. Watch me fly

on the breeze over all these buildings, 

these honeycombs of life, of human beings

living, surviving, creating —

focus on me when I look like foil, 

serenading chaff in the dying sunlight

with the twilight of the city

starting to blossom into neon flowers. 

signs that beg you, One More Day. 

One More Day. 

This notebook isn’t finished yet, there 

are still pages to fill with words, with

the words only you know, the ones

learnt in all that hurt and 

so what if if if 

you can’t write for shaking hands,

this seismograph on the last page

isn’t a good way to leave. It

won’t help heal the wound. An

earthquake can’t stitch the ground up. 

You can’t keep ripping out my pages.”


But, it tumbled back


back into the fluorescent lights

and the roadmarkings guiding

the girl

running up ten flights of stairs

with one arm out to

catch the poem

and one arm out to

catch the poet.


The page unfurled like

a parachute in her grip.

I want to cut out every word

on that page, except a few

so all that’s left is


i want to live.


Rhys Feeney is a British-born poet living in Wellington, New Zealand, where he’s a recent graduate of English Literature and Film Studies from Victoria University. His work has previously appeared in blackmail press, The Rising Phoenix ReviewSilver Birch Press and Ology Journal. He’s a cat person. More of his work can be found at https://rhysfeeneywriting.tumblr.com
Seamlessly Broken.

Seamlessly Broken.

likening myopia to an abstract watercolour

likening myopia to an abstract watercolour