(1/4 of a suite of seasonal poems)

she’s tired, and she’s fighting

with everything she’s got

she’s golden fields of dried-up grass

melted glass and bone meal dust

traffic flowing like molasses down the shimmering road

she’s tired, and she’s trying

chapstick kisses against the wilting earth

she watches the clock, ticking in the corner

counting seconds off on sunburnt fingers

she walks barefoot on hot pavement

wearing a skirt of lace and a crown of stone

she’s peach tea and laughter

she’s the colour of the sky

she’s pressing kisses to clenched fingers

she’s saying goodbye

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I’ve been getting into more narrative poems recently–I used to absolutely hate writing these, but honestly, of late? They’ve been growing on me. I’m gonna do a suite of seasonal poems like this–I have spring and autumn written up so far, so stay tuned for that in the next few weeks. 🙂

-Lorna