The NS poem: The Witness

A new poem by Will Eaves.

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I would like references
for my tenancy
to be as bland and noncommittal –

“I didn’t know him well.
He paid his rent on time
and left the property in a fair condition” –

even a little surprised by the request,
like a small bird turning
its head or a late key change

where the melodic interest has waned,
troubled people caught in the act
of calling other people troubled,

clerestory windows
that project a void movie
held in high regard.

The great thing is to be clear
as a doorway and, only as a doorway
can be, empty with utility.

A strange cat nudges open
the gate and waits before
it trots out a signature.

Will Eaves’s new novel, Murmur, is published by CB Editions

This article first appeared in the 18 May 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Israel and the impossible war