Today’s choice

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Gabrielle Meadows

 

 

You always ate oranges

I am peeling an orange at the end of something
At the end of a line from each time you took up the fruit
Dug your thumb in, hooked out a chunk of skin
Pulled pith from flesh from round
heralding its colours so loud no one
could hear themselves think

I am tearing the peel from an orange gently and somewhere
Far away a tree falls in a forest and we
don’t hear it but the ground does and the birds do
And they mourn the passing of things out of existence
In limitless waves of quiet

 

 

Gabrielle Meadows lives in Norfolk and works in arts education. She runs workshops in
storytelling and improvisation for young children.
gjmeadows.wordpress.com

Mara Adamitz Scrupe

on that new broke land           I don’t anymore

recall               there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow

a grove named & a bird’s sternum

Bill Greenwell

Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.