Memory

Naoise Gale

I remember you as lemon-thyme
And scorched grass, endless knives
Of wet grass through my wriggling
Toes, stinking summer grass dotted
With frail daisies, sunlight that
Streamed onto me like melted butter.
I remember the feeling of angel
Hair through my clasping fingers,
The webs of early autumn made
Iridescent with silvery sunshine;
I remember the sound of police cars
That slapped down the oil-wet roads
And unleashed steaming sirens.
I remember the occasional clench
Of my fists around private stashes
In the semi-darkness of illegal nights,
I remember highs like sanguine
Sudanese sunrises, I remember
Every drip of you on the molten
Carpet, I remember the bitter
Taste of you on my tongue, I
Remember I remember I remember.
I cannot forget. Dreams like pink
Bridal shrouds haunt me – these nights
I am always laid flat with a palmful
Of pills, butter-soft on the carpet,
Never hacking blood into
The toilet, or passing out as my
Desperate mother slaps my blue-
Tinged cheek in a taxi to the hospital.
I am never explaining myself to
Judgemental staff, or sitting stiff in
A room marked ‘OD’, naloxone
Still noisy and abhorrent in my
Veins. No, in my memory it is
Always summer, and we twist
Together like a daisy chain, weak
As anything, but oh so beautiful.

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Naoise Gale is an autistic poet from the UK. She writes about mental health, addiction and eating disorders. She has been published by various magazines including Cephalo Press, Anti Heroin Chic and Rabid Oak, and was runner up in the Parkinson’s Art Poetry Competition 2020. You can find more of her work at @Naoisegale13 on Twitter.

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