Poetry: On the Night Street & In the Garden of Mrs. McRae

On the Night Street

by Kathryn Ormosi

All I remember is the quickness of the thing

in the dark.

A sickening sweet smell, like three-day old lilies.

The grab upon my wrist was hard

and fast.

An unnatural strength and a sickening crack

of my bone

sent me into sheer panic.

It was only the cover of the book

that came between my flesh and the snap

of those teeth.

Thank god for the policeman.

Who shot it dead. Right through the eye,

which, for one suspended, terrifying moment,

fixed me

with a sadness and ravenous hunger

as it opened its mouth

to die.

In the Garden of Mrs. McRae

by Kathryn Ormosi

I have made a small garden, here in the city.

It’s not much, close here to my back door.

I envy the potatoes, nestled safely

underground.

At the borders,

I have planted marigolds and rue,

to deter malevolent creatures.

At dawn I creep outside

to check the progress

of tomatoes, onions, carrots.

The weeds

threaten

to overrun

my world.

Choking tender plants.

I rip the invaders from the dirt,

furious

with despair.

I am at wits’ end

to keep them at bay,

so that all will not be lost.

As he was.

My young flower, turned poison.

Nothing to be done.

No tears could stop the sickness.

Once it came.

He is over the wall now.

I keep him out

with marigolds and fear.