orange tulips
among the detritus of winter
sycamore seedlings
© Rachel Green February 2025
III.IX
The briefest glance through drawers in disarray
reveals some jewellery sourced from market stalls
bought in a time when youth had ruled the day
and lovers heeded tawdry magpie calls.
There's nothing here for her to steal and pawn
and although theft might be an ugly word
she justifies with tired, bourgeois yawn
that property is theft as Proudhon once had learned.
She leaves the room, astounded at the depth
of violence so openly displayed
but thankful that the woman here had left
before such trauma was upon her laid.
© Rachel Green February 2025
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