SELF-PORTRAIT AS AGATHA CHRISTIE NOVEL
AV Bridgwood
some say the pacing drags and the ending is impossible / but I love / this solution unfurling / slowly in me like a fortune / fish in a hot palm // it all hinges on the knowledge of a child / strange / watchful / found silenced / at the birthday party with an apple in her mouth / after which violence / becomes ordinary as breakfast / (kippers sweating on a silver platter) / for the survivors / in silly hats squabbling / over an inheritance / that never existed // don’t worry / I have a wise old girl in me who baffles / the authorities / by listening / to the gardener the servant the patient / raises an eyebrow at the true gent / the good wife // one day she’ll gather / the squabbling selves together / ancestors looking down / from panels of oak slicked and beaten / almost into glass / and reveal who it was / who stripped / the body / who roughed up the flowerbed and slashed / grandpa’s portrait / and the one / she points to will stand up / and say yes / it is I / yes / I am / the heart / of this story / yes I am / the blood of it / and I’ll say O / O / I see it now / of course / that was the meaning / of the smashed clock / the unsigned letter / the figure fleeing / down the narrow passages / of the hurtling night / train to god knows where / of course / that was the Beginning / and the Middle / that led to this / finally / the Ending