A poem by JENNA HAM.
This is a day.
This idyllic space, though, might
Disintegrate before my eyes
Like a frame I’ve dropped on the kerb,
If I’m not too careful.
This time in my life,
Roof-bathing in sun spots,
Is on the brink of ending.
I don’t feel so good, Mr Stark.
This all withers and fades in the stillness of a summer day.
These trees firm in their roots, even,
Are turning white in front of me.
To be uncouth, un-cuð, to cut right down.
The shuttle of birds past my left side
Reminds me to walk
On this cable-car line that I take on every day.
Even my poems are starting to sound the same;
Same the sound to starting are poems.
My poems are losing their face.
But I’ve never seen the leaves look so dewy:
Shiny, and soft and sane.
Featured image courtesy of Jenna Ham.
