Fear of breezes; fear of quarrels at night-time; fear of wreckage; fear of one’s reflection in spoons; fear of children’s footprints; fear of the theory behind architecture; fear of boldness; fear of catching anxiousness from dogs; fear of ragged-right margins; fear of exposure after pruning back ivy; fear of bridges; fear of pure mathematics; fear of cats expressing devotion; fear of proximity to self-belief; fear of damp tree trunks; fear of unfamiliar elbows (all elbows being unfamiliar, even one’s own); fear of colour leaking from vegetables; fear of the mechanics of love affairs; fear of slipping; fear of ill-conceived typography; fear of non-specific impact leading to the vertical ejection of the spine from the body; fear of leaf mulch; fear of the timbre of poetry recitals; fear of balcony furniture; fear of colour leaking from the heart; fear of internal avalanche; fear of the notion of a key engaging with the inside of a lock; fear of psychoanalytical interpretations; fear of dregs; fear of book titles; fear of particular hues of sky glimpsed from aeroplane windows; fear of text stamped into metal; fear of promises; fear of alienation brought on by hospitality; fear of unexplained light; fear of comprehensive write-off; fear of fear; fear of help. Fear of asking for, receiving, refusing, giving, or being denied help.
Emily Berry
© Emily Berry
Ett varmt tack till Emily Berry för att vi fick publicera den här prosadikten. Den är hämtad ur hennes dramatiska, fantasifulla och kvicka debutsamling Dear Boy (Faber & Faber, 2013). I höst kommer antologin Best British Poetry 2015 (Salt) ut och helt väntat finns Berry med.
Ola Wihlke
BearBooks 