wildscape. literary journal

i s s u e: 1

// p o e t r y

Tell Me Again
by Naomi Mills

–> The following is known as a ‘burning haibun’. It begins with a prose-poem (1), the second part is created by the erasing or blacking out of certain parts of the first poem, thus creating an erasure/blackout poem (2). This is then reduced even further to create the final part: the haiku (3).

(1)

I am a witness to what I wish did not exist. A world unfurls in my cupped hand. Its petals turn to dust and scatter. The tongues of a thousand languages roll back in throats slit into silence. Tell me that earth is a light-filled place. Let me recall that face of hope, like pompous clouds, lolling in celeste skies, or my father’s eyes, as he lifts me up. I’ll be a child again, I won’t know what it cost us just to live, or what we lost so that we could love. Let me believe that earth is as light as a butterfly kiss; that gentle tickle of absurd intimacy, as our faces press together for a moment and our mouths pull into smiles, enamoured by our proximity. Will it cost you too much to tell me again, tell me that the actions of men cannot weigh down this bubbling joy I feel when the sun holds my skin in its command? Or when the land dazzles, swelling in viridian and sage – will you repeat it then? I am a river that scorches a trench in a future I might not be part of. I am holding my hand up to the light, again.

(2)

I am a witness to what I wish did not exist. A world unfurls in my cupped hand. Its petals turn to dust and scatter. The tongues of a thousand languages roll back in throats slit into silence. Tell me that earth is a light-filled place. Let me recall that face of hope, like pompous clouds, lolling in celeste skies, or my father’s eyes, as he lifts me up. I’ll be a child again, I won’t know what it cost us just to live, or what we lost so that we could love. Let me believe that earth is as light as a butterfly kiss; that gentle tickle of absurd intimacy, as our faces press together for a moment and our mouths pull into smiles, enamoured by our proximity. Will it cost you too much to tell me again, tell me that the actions of men cannot weigh down this bubbling joy I feel when the sun holds my skin in its command? Or when the land dazzles, swelling in viridian and sage – will you repeat it then? I am a river that scorches a trench in a future I might not be part of. I am holding my hand up to the light, again.

(3)

I am a witness to what I wish did not exist. A world unfurls in my cupped hand. Its petals turn to dust and scatter. The tongues of a thousand languages roll back in throats slit into silence. Tell me that earth is a light-filled place. Let me recall that face of hope, like pompous clouds, lolling in celeste skies, or my father’s eyes, as he lifts me up. I’ll be a child again, I won’t know what it cost us just to live, or what we lost so that we could love. Let me believe that earth is as light as a butterfly kiss; that gentle tickle of absurd intimacy, as our faces press together for a moment and our mouths pull into smiles, enamoured by our proximity. Will it cost you too much to tell me again, tell me that the actions of men cannot weigh down this bubbling joy I feel when the sun holds my skin in its command? Or when the land dazzles, swelling in viridian and sage – will you repeat it then? I am a river that scorches a trench in a future I might not be part of. I am holding my hand up to the light, again.



about the author // Naomi Mills

Naomi Mills (she/her) is a poet from Co. Kildare in Ireland. She earned a bachelor’s degree in English and Philosophy at Maynooth University in 2023 and has recently completed a master’s degree in Creative Writing at the same university, under the tutelage of writer Belinda McKeon. Her poetry has been published in Dark Poets Club.

Instagram: @naomiymills