Clem Henricson is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. She is a writer and philosopher and has directed a public policy institute advising international government. Widely published, her most recent works include Morality and Public Policy and Making Space for Melancholy. Her recently published poetry includes Beached Hull, North Sea Funeral, The Ship at Night, Retire to the sea….and howl, the Bayeux Tapestry, My Child, Vitreous Detachment, Dry, Bird Crash, A mid- Covid memory of a funeral as it should be, Bodies on display, Dead, Splinter, Shriek and sleep. She has also written a North Sea Memoir.

In Eyeshot

By Clem Henricson

Trapped by mirrors in a ship

silver spread
sandwiched between backing
and glass
two eyes drill their holes
shutters click flash
to the back of the head
if you look hard enough
with a narcissistic bent
you can see
the bone of your skull

– if that is what you want

stuck to mirrors
in the hub of a ship
air tight

a hint of disgorged
stomach in the swell
the overwhelming
scent of salt

rumble and sway
the looking glasses danced
to the rythme of the ship
and I tagged holding
nerve and body fast
through eye claws
that pierced

past irises into a hole
I spied a myriad selves
echoing between mirrors
fore and aft
until emerging
chrysalis breached
beyond the countless

I stepped out of my body
petrified
did not go moth-like
headlong into the light

rather shrank and turned
to a non – reflecting wall

– until time passed

For a time – the sea

Eyes float free
above the rippling
swell and suck
of waters on a scale
that deflects thinking.

Thinking hooked on rails
round the coils of a brain
unravelling in its escapade
across a screen
of dazzling formations
sizzling flats
rocking streams
of light and grey
on occasion blue
tipped with glass.

Catching the eye of the sun
diamonds flick
puffs of white lace in streaks
slashing the frill of rocks
containing sea.

Rocks that soldier on
despite the onslaught
grabbed and sliced
as an old man’s face
too long in the sun.

While my face
acts as witness
on generational watch
for a time
over that fast shooting
gallery of shapes and colours
each day each hour
a stream of watery exhibits.

Self-portrait

Blood blocked
Saliva dried
Air sucked
Pickled husk

I walk into a room
and there is the face
I eye her
and she me
I move
to shut her out
til the next time

then return the day after
and the day after that
on and on

I’d made her with my own hands
sliced a clay square
head size plus neck
pushed fingers into the
wet holes waiting for eyes
wrench and stroke
tweet her smile
each day a slip of change
so fondness grew

then I fired her
preserved
in the still air of a room
for me to watch
slip in from time to time
to touch caress
in off guard moments
away from prying eyes

away from the elements
away from wear and tear
from hit and drip
that gives leprosy to
church gargoyles
noses missing
cheeks sunk
in a coat of lichen

instead
I keep her inside
just as I made her
dry immutable
until the uncanny bond is snapped
not by her demise – but mine