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.

Sophie Lankarani

Even though I only once traced your streets with my own feet,
you wandered into my dreams anyway
sliding in through my grandmother’s stories,

May Grier

I wasn’t to know
that it was a three-tusked
beast; that there was not one,
not two, but three
that grew the seed of me.