hard white seeds that don’t grow in the ground
The word has left you. Instead, you turn
your plate-like hands, the way a ploughshare
turns up rocks, or the bones of small mammals.
You stare at the creases in the loose squares
of your palms, as though each
is a path you’ve never travelled.
Sometimes, we try to follow them –
trace them back down all the years
to when their route was still uncut: farm tracks
not yet tarmacked, or sheep trods across
a common field, where footsteps still raised
a breath of dry earth; where the seeds,
secreted in the ground, would wake in later months
as beetroot, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, swede.
‘Crockery’ first appeared in the 2015 Templar Anthology, Mill
I enjoyed your verbal poetry. Your beautiful voice was made to read. I believe the writer understand their work and need to read their work to make come alive.
Hi John – thank you for your lovely comment. Glad you liked it!
I did. I did verbal poetry reading years ago. Best place to be. With people who love books and poetry. You are welcome.