(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
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