“Where are your morals?”, she cried,
Followed by “What’s wrong with you?”
Then another complaint,
Which I did not hear because I had walked away
At quite a pace.
Morals: the code by which we live our lives,
Yet of course we each have our own code,
Our own compass,
A little voice in every mind,
My code tells me
As long as we are not hurting others,
If we aim to have integrity,
That compass is pointing in the right direction.
Salt on my tongue,
Dissolves sharply into the roof of my mouth.
Salt in the garden,
Sprinkled on the earth to keep slugs away.
Salt along the roads,
Keeping slippery ice and snow at bay.
Salt over our bodies,
Drying on our skin after swimming in the ocean.
But my favourite salt
Covers the rim of my margarita glass.
I wore a crown of tiny spiders
When I first met the Fairy Queen:
Soft and newborn, under silky green leaves
She gave at once a cry
And the spiders all crawled off,
Through dark undergrowth,
While I watched them growing farther away.
Softly, her nursemaids began to sing
So that she would sleep,
And as she closed her thin lids
The forest grew still,
And darkness fell like treacle
On all of us:
Then slowly, silently, the stars started to shine.
One final visit to the town that has been my home.
Or perhaps one day there will be another?
Not for the foreseeable future:
When will I see that stretch of coast again,
Hear the many seagulls call across the breeze?
I will miss the open spaces, the narrow streets too.
I seem to fall in love with every place in which I live
And leave part of me behind when I go away,
But the urge to pack up and move does not leave.
Goodbye for now, to this green and sprawling town,
To the salted air and busy roads.
If I see you again, we will both have changed.
The street outside is cold and grey
While the air inside is humid, heavy,
Full of water drops and a sweet scent:
Trays of orange slices line the path,
Which are nibbled silently.
I try to listen carefully:
Is that the gentle flutter of wings in the air?
Behind leaves and on branches,
Or high up in the air,
We observe the fleeting lives
Of colour, warmth and beauty:
The elusive winter butterfly.
Although this has stung I do not feel regret.
We can’t rewind now anyway
Yet I don’t regret meeting you,
Or any of the times we shared:
I won’t tear up our photos
Nor cut you off,
But I don’t want to be together again.
Our happy memories
Will remain memories,
Plans we made returned to dust.
It wouldn’t feel right:
Under the crook of your arm again,
Laughing as if nothing had changed
Because truly, everything has.
At the top of the hill with my bicycle, I wait,
As I start to roll down I am going too fast, out of control,
I cannot find the pedals and my heart is in my mouth
My feet flounder in the air uselessly.
Tightly I grip the handlebar
While the incline decreases,
Allowing me to slow.
The speed was terrifying but unknown sights beckoned
And as I look around I cannot see you any more
Because you didn’t want to leave
So I had to make my own way.
Now I don’t know if we will see each other again
But at least I’ve gone forward.
Pollen is in the air, making my eyes water,
But the white blossom all around is beautiful.