Milk bottle
My mum is standing at the kitchen sink
pressing the silver coin down so carefully
with her left thumb, a dented heart that beats
two days, until it joins the pretend pennies
scattered on the window sill. Above me,
the fat-rimmed lip of the bottle; I can almost
touch the frilly collar of cream that my sister
drinks. My job: to take the empties. I dare
to carry them one-handed, letting their bodies
reverberate, a juddery hollow of sound curling
through my fingers and sliding into their open
throats. I have been taught not to answer back,
not to question the world of empty men,
tight-necked, stout-shouldered. When I reach
the front door, I silence them with a rolled-up
scroll, filled with my very best handwriting.
…
Olga’s first poetry pamphlet apple, fallen is published by Against the Grain Press and her second collection is to be published by Nine Pens Press later this year. She is a teacher and has two daughters. @olgadermott
atriumpoetry.com 