Trapped

Acceptance just flew away.

Accompanied two magpies as
they took off over gardens,
into distant fields now green again,
able to breath from welcome thaw.

I opened the door,
saw the grass,
sensed a sharp edged wind
as loving as it was harsh,
brush against a pale
complaisant sun.

And I wanted to run again.

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Trapped

Acceptance just flew away.

Accompanied two magpies as
they took off over gardens,
into distant fields now green again,
able to breath from welcome thaw.

I opened the door,
saw the grass,
sensed a sharp edged wind
as loving as it was harsh,
brush against a pale
complaisant sun.

And I wanted to run again.

First Love

First Love

We were together three years, you and I.
The sketch you drew of The Beatles
for my bedroom wall was so good,
far too good to be torn
into a thousand pieces.

I let them flutter from the bedroom
window among the snow, hoping
they would melt with the thaw
but they were still there and
I had to sweep them away.

And I hoped that if I unravelled
every stitch from the jumper I knit you,
hurtful memories would uravel too,
but they just lay there in a shrivelled
heap, much more bitter than sweet.

Your mother sent me a kind letter
saying how much she liked me
with a well-meaning
consolation prize,
nylon stockings,
American tan with seams.
I never wore them;
I preferred tights.