Old pennies

Swimming amongst dust bunnies

Old sports bags

Clods of yellowed magazines

Stashed away in the cupboard

In the spare bedroom

I’ve hidden secrets, memories, pensieve emotions

Even a stack of vintage playing cards

Your brother tried to use to teach me magic

Nightshade

Dark

falls at my feet.

A great river

just

for me, pulling

on my life

with spoons and sugars.

I swim

every day, against

the current,

accidentally swallowing

the water down

as I fight

to stay afloat.

In the museum.

Haze. Frost across the future

in an eggcup full of water

in a statue’s cupped hands

in a child’s shoe.

Tinted.

Refracting red.

Wheat fields rise:

golden, new.

A heady scent bottled and archived –

a summer in the West.

Before the fall.

The Neat Gurney

A glimmer catches your eye,

you look closer, taking in

the brightness and separating it

from the image beyond.

There you see her eyes sparkling

blue, full of hope

that tugs at your being.

You dare to believe her optimism

is not misguided,

but then the mirror darkens,

clouded by a storm of muttering.

The doctor says this is normal.

Still, deep down,

you can’t help but fear

the worst.

Advertisement