Monday 22 August 2016

poetry 2016 / 091

Tin Jewels

As a child
I peeked under the skirts
of topiary;
trailed my fingers along the petals
of flaking rust
and dug the splinters of loneliness
from the pads of my fingers.
I ran barefoot through the slugs
and breathed the soft fur
of dandelion fairies;
catching thistle seeds as they drifted
through the echoes of schoolyard taunts.
Sundown bats along the banks of the canal
dead pigs and half-submerged bottles
the targets of juvenile missiles
and the soft huff of a horse's breath
on a frosty October morning.

2 comments:

aims said...

Oh Rachel - ' and dug the splinters of loneliness
from the pads of my fingers.'

Sigh. I understand that completely.

Rachel Green said...

Thank you. I knew I wasn't the only one.