Letter from Kurt

As if a letter from Kurt Schwitters might arrive
one evening, coming home from work, when the children
do not hear me open the door, the television is loud
and even when I stand in front of them, they do not
move, I make myself a gin and move in to the other room
and there is the letter propped against my pillow,
imagine, I open it and out fall the scraps, the tickets,
the fragments of writing as a bus passes in the night
and the house shakes slightly I am still
holding the empty envelope, in fact there is no way
that I know this is from Schwitters at all,
I have work to do still and
the shaky handwriting of the address, I would like to piece
on the canvas but where will we sleep
and when I wake they fly from me
a sad fact I cannot know
is flowing over me like a punctuation mark
not a question mark but perhaps a grave accent
and when the phone rings, I expect the worst, the words
the words are speaking to me on the phone
when the phone rings, I expect the words
and they will talk to me, once, but not right now
instead, there is music, a stranger’s friend is talking to me
and there is the language-game of withholding information
but nothing is less than the hour we have now
to unfreeze the children to begin to set aside
the plates, to raise the arm as a fist
opens in front of me, as if my children spoke through me
to say there are no letters, only envelopes.
Giles Goodland

Coming soon in Poems in Which Issue 4

The editors are delighted to announce the contributors for Issue 4:

Lutz Seiler translated by Alexander Booth

Melissa Lee-Houghton

Mark Waldron

Abigail Parry

Emma Hammond

Bobby Parker

Anat Zecharia translated by Irit Sela

Josephine Corcoran

Dollie Stephan

Samuel Prince

Francine Elena

Nicola Gledhill

Fiona Moore

Paul Stephenson

John Canfield

Alexander Speaker

Martha Sprackland

Eireann Lorsung

Joey Connolly

Anna Selby

Sarah Wedderburn

Karl Smith

Giles Goodland

and new artwork from Sophie Gainsley