Cover image courtesy of the artist, Charlotte Kelly
are days you can't remember who you are.
You spend hours looking for old pieces of yourself
the cushions of the sofa, the bathroom mirror,
the eye of the potato, that safe soft place
you hid the purse of possibility
but words slip away,
empty out pockets full
of useless rhyme and incident.
open your mouth and feathers fall out,
- primaries and coverts into the air -
up on the thermal of your breath
they roost in the crown of your head
take themselves out the window
and play puck with the plums in the high garden.
try to follow them and meet yourself
coming back with a poem
wants to give itself to you
but your hands shake too much to grab onto it.