September 03, 2011

Brava (poem)

The tall sunflowers bowed their heads outside the tinted taxi windows. Back in Scotland the oil seed rape is short and half yellow. Earlier my sister yanked at my niece’s arm like an angry bell ringer or trying start a stubborn lawn mower the silence is still heavy but wasn’t enough to drown the homecoming of nights as warm as our hottest days. Taking me back to stand on the tiles, tired and relieved With someone around ten years my junior, snug and viable under stretchy pre teen skin. Their shock washed him out and I held the child to my breasts like our midwife was David Attenborough.