Thief
beside me.
Make a list
write a poem
do the washing up
we are the paper people
( of the stationery bus)
filing the days
folding them and stacking up
events events events
the tasks the moments
industry of life pours dreary
self-serving sights
upon my fragile soul
thief beneath me
pilfering the currency
ground to me, me to ground
I like it when the real work starts
deeps arise, shreddable
compostable
turning out the pockets
soft I move and gently
touch the crumpled heart
relic rubbish reminiscence
all wrapped into one
the mulch around our feet
the country owning us
listening to our stories
in the air
we are the drowsy buzz of bees
busy bees
forgetful of the flowers
industrious with the pollen
thief beside me
hold me from my mother
away from that speckle on the throat
the two or three pip cry
that names the birds
fly-in fly-out
peeping, crying
feeding
Another powerful piece young lady. Love it.xxx
ReplyDeleteThanks Janette, I am writing for your press tonight so I hope you feel the same when you open your emails on Wed. xx
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