Beneath the Glass Dome

By Amanda McLeod

why in heaven’s name did you come here?

dry earth spins in small tornados under azure skies
as sheets of white lace drape themselves in shadowfall
the sun doesn’t render them clear like sparkling water
footpaths are empty; gravel is the new black

there’s nothing to do

gems, hidden away under piles of old rock or genteel, faded building facades
wait in silence for the gentle lapidary
to uncover what lies hidden to the untrained eye

everything’s political

mistrust is everywhere, spreading if you let it; but
ideals gather the like-minded as collectors do seashells,
and feasts of art, words, beauty, and wisdom
sate the most inquiring minds, a banquet of creativity

it’s so quiet

silence has a price above rubies for those who crave it
a fertile soil in which delicate petals bloom
vivid, dancing soundwalls are but an arm’s length away
close enough to touch, but far enough to let me breathe

I don’t know how you stand it

all the reasons you dislike it are the reasons I adore it
I am a hothouse flower; an orchid that spent years
struggling in the soil of the wrong places
only to find perfect conditions, and thrive


Amanda McLeod is a Canberra creative with too many ideas and never enough time. She’s the author of Animal Behaviour (Chaffinch Press, 2020) and the managing editor of Animal Heart Press, a small poetry press. If you’re looking for her, you can try outside (even if it’s raining). You can also catch her on AmandaMcLeodWrites.com, Twitter and on Instagram

Photo by Sam Brady

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