Windless Day

Night’s white noise is over. Day arises
to stillness. Light crouches behind windows,

presses through chinks. Dawn’s chorus
conceals a speck of silence that casts a shadow

stretching vast across the floor.
Double-checking in the cereal bowls, Day reveals

emptiness disguised as a cornflake. A stale
sandwich left overnight curls at the edges.

Day crawls like a hangover along city roads,
behind mountains, trawls the dark mirror of landfill

and finds her reflection no longer ripples.
Wind has grown up and moved away,

packing every half-decent breeze and musty blow.
As if the last breath of night has stranded her high

on a cliff face. A forgotten guillemot jumpling
sits on a ledge. No-one left to encourage its leap.

Sally Spiers is retired and lives in North London. She has had poems published by the International Times, Artemesia, Brighton and Hove poetry competition, South Downs Poetry Competition and Wild Fire. She won first prize in the Charm Poetry competition 2024. She is an active member of the Peace movement and organises a London wide poetry study group.