Elegy
After the driest July since 1911,
the earth is left bewildered.
The soil cracks like paving stones
and the trees sizzle in the heat.
A sky, brazenly blue, leans closer
to inspect brown parks, low rivers.
Black birds circle above a shrinking
puddle, with one dark leaf like a boat.
Autumn has arrived, awkward, early.
Yellow grass crisps against
raised roots, petrifying, petrified.
An oak bakes in its bark,
already itching in a sweat of acorns.
Hawthorn and holly are clotted
with berries, dripping onto dusty paths.
An elder clutches at bunches of
fungal fruit, rabbit droppings.
And we wander past baffled trees,
swelling like smoke, searching for the fire.
Bex Hainsworth is a poet and teacher based in Leicester, UK. Her work has appeared in Atrium, Prole, Honest Ulsterman, bath magg, and trampset. Her debut pamphlet of ecopoetry will be published by Black Cat Poetry Press in 2023.