Winter 2005

Bunny Goodjohn


Bunny Goodjohn Bunny Goodjohn, originally from the UK, now resides in Forest, Virginia. Her poetry has appeared in the literary journal, Concrete Wolf and in Mélange and Wind. In 2001, she was awarded Honorable Mentions in both the Helen Calvert Award and the Don Goodwin poetry competition. When she isn’t writing, which is rare, Bunny enjoys growing veggies, e-mailing friends in the UK, and cooking up a vegetarian storm.
Motor Neurone    

I watch you, quiet now within
the rest of the not-quite-dead.
Your breath, a roller-coaster,
drags up the tracks, teeters
on the brink then shakes
on down life's long siding.
You are tethered to the IV stand
as if, unrestrained, you might run
from this place, choose to hide
behind the doctor's car, away
from the stick of treatment
silently given, mutely received.

Clothes sloughed off, I slip between
starched sheets, slide my body
spooned to yours, ease skin to skin.
Your tremors at touch's recognition
cease then shudder on through
a waltz of wasted muscle.

Who cut your charcoal locks, lover?
Who gave you this old man's hair?
Low on the nape of your neck, beyond
the scrape of disinfectant, our anniversary;
you in a tuxedo, uncorking champagne,
silver bubbles spinning across the room.

Big man of mine, who squeezed
you into this dried husk? What joker
thought this a great punchline?



Bunny Goodjohn: Poetry
Copyright © 2005 The Cortland Review Issue 27The Cortland Review