Today’s choice

Previous poems

Kate Bonfield

 

 

 

May long weekend
 
Coming home to days of heat
trapped beyond the door, to time skewed
by time away, the house bigger and
smaller than before.

As if magnified, a hornet lies dead
by the baffling window
ridiculously detailed and weightless
in the new breeze, shifting.

Another dies nearby, tightens
to a comma then straightens, repeating
on a Domino’s flyer I use to take it outside.
I doubt it survived there.

This happened another May:
emerging in the old, cold room
taken in by green seen through glass,
the house stuffed solid with the shut-up noise
of their oversized hopelessness.

 

 

Kate Bonfield lives and works in Dorset.

Ben Banyard

There were hundreds of them, all in period costume,
each generation explained who they were,
queued like at a wedding reception to greet us.

Maurice Devitt

Yes, you gave us your elegant hands
and capricious smile, but as I make my way
to the chiropodist this morning,
it’s your feet I’m thinking of . . .