Today’s choice

Previous poems

Ella B. Winters

 

 

 

Human

Across the road stands a woman
wearing a child on her heart, her breast-

milk stained t-shirt plays
peek-a-boo with the infant’s

bobbing head, toothless grin
scattering in all directions. The baby

raises her hands like a conductor
readying an orchestra for the first bar.

All traffic is suspended in red
anticipation, eyes trained on the miniature

fingers which, having secured attention,
begin to ripple through the air,

a wordless being commanding the world
with her malcoordinated wave.

The response is instant: exuberant
smiles from parents and children, workworn

builders, the owner of the kebab shop
on the street corner– everyone

complies, waves back, because who can
resist this glorious dictatorship

of swaying palms, grasping air
like treasure, catching each smile

in babyfat creases and tossing it back
into the junction, where it is picked up

like an ancient melody and passed along.
An improvised performance

we can all understand – you are
human, and so am I.

 

 

Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a social worker, researcher, and writer, currently living in England. Her poetry often explores themes of identity, memory and belonging. She is working on her PhD.

Dave Wakely

      Grandfather/Grandson A hot, dry day in an already arid season. I stumble through stands of age-misshapen oaks, leaves blistering brown as they beckon me into the shade. From time to time, I glimpse a clearing to one side of the path, or a view...

David Lukens

Having earned their wings through evolution
it is almost as though they are loth to use them
preferring familiar earth, the old tree’s broad shadow.