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  • Writer's pictureAnna McNutt

Ode to Redamancy

O redamancy, the act of loving in return,

Last winter you approached me in stupor, Pouring down hiraeth, Reminiscing the time I last kissed you playing Earl’s Luper, My feet tipped on the edge of a train platform.

We bathe in Mare Tranquillitatis, levitating above the rumble. I breathe in nicotine and pretend it’s us in the past, Holding steadfast, no questions asked, But as the smoke curls under my nostrils, your presence fortifies.

Mother says in work you find freedom, Echoing ‘Arbeit macht frei’, prying like an ulcer in my mouth, Sweat stains on my back, carved across my arm: Supersede him, The man strives towards no couth.

The lobster grows out of its shell because of discomfort, I think I must admit, I am in denial that you are no longer in love with me, Shedding locust-husks, floating arthropods in the Dead Sea, Have you ever heard of suffering in rhythm?

Why do we throw ourselves in the eye of a hurricane

and kiss the havoc gently?

I’m on the brink of something incredible, I’m on the brink of fucking up.

Restless young hearts shout, Opposable thumbs evolved to swipe, Tweet the hype, Chances are it sparks or we washout.

And we’ve learnt to walk through road works, gritty, Landslide, won’t you dance with me?

You see, redamancy, The act of loving in return, To be true you must not be cruel, Or work seasonally.

Those who don’t understand you claim waiting equates to pressure, equates to limitation, equates to sets, But time is still ticking,

The Persistence of Memory beats With an insurgence, kicking.

Adoration: a celestial light in Hieros gamos. And awake in petrichor with the idea of undying,


I hope it rains in your city, Every day of the week.


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