beset my nightmares
and woken by the sound of wings
pale rider
© Rachel Green February 2025
III.V
She leaves the corpse to rest in final peace
among the market wrap and paper bags
and stares up to the sky to see if snow will cease
and pray to unknown gods for food and fags.
At least the air is fresh up here above
the humdrum life of poverty she sees
displayed at every turn and shopper's shove
to grab a bargain dish of bacon and grey peas.
A sweet relief from stink of foetid flat
where she has worked and slept in solitude
and in her illness bound in squalor sat
alone in passion for her artist's fortitude.
© Rachel Green February 2025
No comments:
Post a Comment