Imagining myself as a bitter, old woman


Here I am
as old as
you said I would grow

altogether alone

drinking tea curled up with
a gossip of stars and
the milky thaw of the moon –

the thrum of the air still thrums in me
as the flowers fold in their shelves
and as the last fly of pollen turns in my nose
I drift away in eggshells

you will notice

I am not as I once was
I won’t bore you with the details

among other things

the broken bow of my frown
was too unwanted to fit me again,
so I took it outside and set it down
in the low branch of an aspen –

now the chaffinch lays its button eggs
along its narrow cleft


I’ve started lifting with the clouds
the sun chasing at my feet, and
as I’ve let go of lonely parts
like autumn trees let go of leaves

the earth rolls over in winter treacle

you may have heard

I raise oranges from the soil now, and
the summer blood of my polka-dot parade
is the heat and dance that flowers and melts
into my cut of morning marmalade

and when the season is over
and each freckled blossom falls home
I tell the stars about their dance

altogether alone.



Gurpreet Bharya is a poet and copywriter and lives in Berkshire. Her writing often references the natural world and has been published in Visual Verse. She is currently working on her first collection of poetry on the theme of divorce.