wrinkles in the mirror for example
when I am clearly only six
and it is strange
that someone as tall as me
can’t reach the top shelf
staggering that my slimness
escapes over my belt
how can reality keep
getting it so wrong
wrinkles in the mirror for example
when I am clearly only six
and it is strange
that someone as tall as me
can’t reach the top shelf
staggering that my slimness
escapes over my belt
how can reality keep
getting it so wrong
I click on the bell
enjoy the joke from the Episcopalians
feel commiseration rise
with the friend engaged in struggle
someone has liked my comment
there are fish in it again
why did I say that
when
is it celebration or complaint
are the fish in ice cream
or the living room
is the letterbox stuffed with them
does the jam taste funny
another click will take me to
solution
I don’t go there
my life is better full
of fins and scales
mysterious water-breathing things
rising random to the surface
that one thing that I loved and couldn’t part with
took charge
and though I carried on as if it hadn’t
it drew me back again and again
and every time I stood by it
I love you I said I will not let you go
or bury you….. remembering you is not enough
I carried you up hills
across fields….. skirted ditches
lost friends along the way
but hung on….. hung on
was the spinning woman….. dangling
by her gritted teeth from the bright trapeze
turning and turning in the dazzle
to the cymbal’s hiss at the end of the drumroll
would I do it again
no….. I need to learn to trust
the radiant absence….. the mark beneath
the mark….. the surfacing of joy
bursting up through water after a dive
I am learning to swim
JD
a foxglove that I never planted
but was pleased to see in leaf last year
is tall now….. and dark pink
bees visit…… sliding their fuzzy arses
into the snug pipes of the flowers
reading the secret codes of pollen
I see it from my window
willowy…….. head and shoulders high
above everything else in the bed
the wind sways it in the corner of my eye
I look up
the foxglove waves
these days more often than not
I wave back
I think I might have daffodils
the whole place is full of them
banks……..hedgerows
outbursts in fields
tete-a-tete in gardens
and in window boxes
I keep my distance
stay in and watch the news
the world burns with them
yellow rules
they are everywhere
in buckets in shop doorways
in supermarkets
I think – onions…..who can trust them
a bulb’s a bulb
Jan Dean
hoarding the bread
was not a good idea
black mould
blue-green penicillium
the walls however
were inspired
so many seeking shelter
so many flocking in
and now I have them
all the lost
baffled………..mazed
and mine
Jan Dean
Poem with illustration.