I am still surprised
by how a simple fern makes me feel,
its greenest of the greens,
its lacy delicacy,
the way it fans out as if
the order of the universe
was there for all to see,
as if it were waiting
for someone
to start singing.
23 June 2020
It is summer
and I am ill
falling
fast
I am listening
to the blues
to Robert Johnson
and wondering
about crossroads
and old roads
and intersecting paths
and the old ways
chants heard
in lush green leaves
prayers
and blessings
witchcraft
It is summer
and I am surrounded
by roses
and lavender
and geraniums
and hanging baskets
with unknown flowers
cascading
over the sides
like a floral invocation
to unnamed goddesses
everywhere
The wind
blows
in the afternoon
It no longer
plays havoc
with my curls
They’re gone away now
wherever it is
illness takes them
At night the air stills
stars sparkle
and glitter
like you once said
my eyes did
It is summer
and I am surviving
loss
and renewal
and relentless sickness
and time
in all its
temporary majesty
20 June 2018
on the Sussex Coast
the fragility of summer
I think
but I could be wrong
It’s a hard choice to make
but I think
my favourite thing
about summer
is the sound
of blackbirds
singing
just outside
my bedroom window
early in the morning
They’re nesting
in the plum trees
just across
the road
and in my heart.
10 May 2018
