Wednesday, 24 August 2016

poetry 2016 / 093

Northampton, 1996

The indolence of August
fills the spaces between silences.
You shift position, uncomfortable
even in the shadow of a tomb.
Augustus Montclair 1814-1872
but the carving of him faded
under the onslaught of acid rain;
a product of the traffic
he could never have predicted
when the church he patronised
was a good walk from the village
(the better to collect your sins).
Now he looks generic, a mud man
from a fifties sci-fi and his sword
has become a ridge of limstone
populated by lichen of a dozen hues.
I glance across at you, streaks
of cold mascara from your tears.

© Rachel Green 2016

Thank you for stopping by


Stephanie Wright said...

I don't want to speak of this it's so perfect. Now I remember why I kept writing. To get close to this.

Rachel Green said...

I am so glad you think so. If all my writing does is to keep you writing, then my life is well lived.