Constellations
Dylan Booth
Content Warnings: fire and derogatory language
after the L. S. Lowry Constellations Exhibition at The Tate Liverpool
Thomas Demand, Zeichensaal (Drafting Room), 1996
John Hinde, Butlin’s Series, 1970
Edward Wadsworth, The Beached Margin, 1938
Peter Blake, On the Balcony, 1955-7
L.S. Lowry, The Pond, 1950
Thomas Demand, Zeichensaal (Drafting Room), 1996
John Hinde, Butlin’s Series, 1970
Edward Wadsworth, The Beached Margin, 1938
Peter Blake, On the Balcony, 1955-7
L.S. Lowry, The Pond, 1950
ice takes water overhead overseas
over hills a white slumber braces
the girl was entirely paper. her paper palms bared ten paper fingers. her two black paper eyes joined by a thin paper nose, kneeled to a sharp paper tongue. her body leaned and shook in the wind like a flame. she drew on walls, drew laughs and cries of her paper family. tears softened.
tin poles spout industrial spew
the lens of an old man a child
a family
left their spade
and sons
behind
the queen
asks for silence a child asks for sustenance
a mother asks a child a child asks for silence
thomas, martha, mother and father
wave coins into machines
despite holes
in their wallets and shoes
the paper girl worked in a giant, paper office. accountant for a paper recycling company. her boss (a fat, torn, paper man) taunted her failure with the heaviness of his eyes and hands. he stood close, breath crisping the paper of her neck, his fist creased onto paper desk. he warned that if she didn’t meet deadlines, while the paper moon distilled the air, he would have her taken into the courtyard and burned.
our true intent is all for your delight
echo the pigeons echo the swans
the ducklings suckling their mothers
drowning in glass pond
their balcony overlooks london
our balcony overlooks london
ghost boats
ask for sailors
gone
buried in peppery sand
lifts snow lets rain across his glasses
looks for his mother among the patches
the in-laws are in the papers
the in-laws are in
frozen water dog prints between
steel-toe boots of a man
the paper girl dreamt of flesh. sickly skin tightening around the joints of her knuckles and toes. stray hairs making a rise along her arms. makeup that wiped straight off, without soiling her face. she thought of all the things she could do with her flesh; to swim, to climb, to eat and drink, to cry, to make love. the images left a lingering long after she woke.
the day diana’s mother called her a whore
this is a place for family!
an old man lends thomas a pound
mother and father throw
spit and words
hands dirty with silt and age by pond
where sailors ride whales
a family tree plague
bubonic and boiling
she will do what she can for this terrific and terrible country
martha and thomas in the aquarium
look at that big fish martha gasps
that really big fish
gasping for air
the paper girl woke with fury, pledged she would go to bed as flesh. she stepped outside, sun warmed the edges of her body. she took a match to work. a crackle, then spark, she tossed the flame into her boss’ office. moments, the entire building was enflamed, engulfed, entirely wavering against the paper sky. the warmth of her achievement singed her cheek.
like man and nature at one
this chaos of winter and hope
she packed her things into a paper bag and dared walk where nobody walked. where no paper man, paper woman, paper girl or boy dared tread. the thin edge of paper town. the further the girl reached, the stronger the wind caught in her hair, looser the smell of burning. she took to the paper woods as though she knew the way. her compass drawn where the heart should be.
a strong neck and sturdy head
at the head of this bottleneck
applause fills the yard
shakes the jewels on the balcony
a quiet
sits like smoke
chokes the land
to life
over hills a white slumber braces
the girl was entirely paper. her paper palms bared ten paper fingers. her two black paper eyes joined by a thin paper nose, kneeled to a sharp paper tongue. her body leaned and shook in the wind like a flame. she drew on walls, drew laughs and cries of her paper family. tears softened.
tin poles spout industrial spew
the lens of an old man a child
a family
left their spade
and sons
behind
the queen
asks for silence a child asks for sustenance
a mother asks a child a child asks for silence
thomas, martha, mother and father
wave coins into machines
despite holes
in their wallets and shoes
the paper girl worked in a giant, paper office. accountant for a paper recycling company. her boss (a fat, torn, paper man) taunted her failure with the heaviness of his eyes and hands. he stood close, breath crisping the paper of her neck, his fist creased onto paper desk. he warned that if she didn’t meet deadlines, while the paper moon distilled the air, he would have her taken into the courtyard and burned.
our true intent is all for your delight
echo the pigeons echo the swans
the ducklings suckling their mothers
drowning in glass pond
their balcony overlooks london
our balcony overlooks london
ghost boats
ask for sailors
gone
buried in peppery sand
lifts snow lets rain across his glasses
looks for his mother among the patches
the in-laws are in the papers
the in-laws are in
frozen water dog prints between
steel-toe boots of a man
the paper girl dreamt of flesh. sickly skin tightening around the joints of her knuckles and toes. stray hairs making a rise along her arms. makeup that wiped straight off, without soiling her face. she thought of all the things she could do with her flesh; to swim, to climb, to eat and drink, to cry, to make love. the images left a lingering long after she woke.
the day diana’s mother called her a whore
this is a place for family!
an old man lends thomas a pound
mother and father throw
spit and words
hands dirty with silt and age by pond
where sailors ride whales
a family tree plague
bubonic and boiling
she will do what she can for this terrific and terrible country
martha and thomas in the aquarium
look at that big fish martha gasps
that really big fish
gasping for air
the paper girl woke with fury, pledged she would go to bed as flesh. she stepped outside, sun warmed the edges of her body. she took a match to work. a crackle, then spark, she tossed the flame into her boss’ office. moments, the entire building was enflamed, engulfed, entirely wavering against the paper sky. the warmth of her achievement singed her cheek.
like man and nature at one
this chaos of winter and hope
she packed her things into a paper bag and dared walk where nobody walked. where no paper man, paper woman, paper girl or boy dared tread. the thin edge of paper town. the further the girl reached, the stronger the wind caught in her hair, looser the smell of burning. she took to the paper woods as though she knew the way. her compass drawn where the heart should be.
a strong neck and sturdy head
at the head of this bottleneck
applause fills the yard
shakes the jewels on the balcony
a quiet
sits like smoke
chokes the land
to life
Dylan Booth is a gay East-Midlands-born writer now based in North-West England. He is the recipient of the 2020 Rhiannon Evans Poetry Award and was commended in the 2020 National Dial-a-poem Competition. He has poems published in Rising Issue and Life on Venus. Dylan completed studies in MA Creative writing and BA (Hons) Creative Writing at Edge Hill University.