Gently fold me in your arms
Rest my head in the crook of your neck
And let me slow-dance the blues away
Harvest Home The afternoon Spent luxuriously In a plastic chair At the bedside of mum Dozy, pale, frowzy Her legs just like mine Under cellular blankets The kind I look at and think “that won’t keep you warm” But turn out to be toasty Drip and cannula, blood pressure Cups of sweet tea Dry air, warm air Nurses chat I tune out Who knows if this is normal? We close the door and The quiet envelops us I close my eyes to pray Apart from kind nurses popping in It’s a flower centre With petals closed It’s a cocoon of blissful rest It’s a four poster feather bed With the curtains drawn. Its enwrapment of love And one, two, three hours go by In quick succession And I with my book reading A poem at a time. The costa guy asked what I was Reading – “Modern Women Poets” And he said “Nothing there for me” Why not? Men can read Poems by women. And the time runs through a sieve And the next thing the nurse say...
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