Poetry

New Habits

They form over months, subtle and sneaky,

habits we’ve picked up by merging so sweetly.

 

Checking ingredients without a second thought,

carrying a full deck of cards just in case they’re sought.

 

Clothes cleaned and ironed for an overnight stay,

fried eggs swapped for part of the other’s breakfast: a good start to the day.

 

One bathing, one readying the bed,

one solving puzzles, one having just read.

 

Phone calls and messages each day we’re apart,

‘I love you’ said often but not so much that it loses its spark.

Poetry

Earthquake

A thousand conversations in my ears,

snatches of words, flashes of colour

and the whole ground shaking.

 

My ground

is turning, thrown up and down

with no chance to recover

before the world is split in two

and my heartbeat

is both silent and rampant.

 

Unable to process what’s going on,

detachment takes hold

 

forcing breath into my lungs

and oxygen to my head.

 

I look up and see the sky.

Calm, blue and trimmed

with a neat green beard.

 

Ice flows forward to crash

against my ankles,

bringing with it the lull of evening.

 

The voices, now tired, begin to settle.

even as the roar continues.

 

Eventually

they take the leap and merge

with the shadows. Dark.

Tied with the night.