Black Petticoats
by 
Lisa
|
Posted: Sunday, July 27, 2003 Word Count: 154 Summary: I won't tell you what this is actually about - I'm interested to see what people read into it. It's only at its second draft stage and may evolve into an entirely different poem. Please let me know what you think. |
I hold a brittle leaf up to the sky,
it's September,
and see the fading tawny light
reveal its skeletal frailty:
the black lace of an old petticoat
split and torn. Through its spindly web
I see her.
Bitter air
cuts the smothering balm of the sun
With a sharp tingle of salt
In my face.
In my hair,
twisting knots from damp fibres
that lash and mesh like the coarse plastic nets
that cling to windows and gutters and roofs
that grab at small legs,
prevent the thick
throbbing mass
of starlings
from making a home.
Out there she stands
feeling no age, wading in the icy water,
her skirts hitched up
revealing naughty black petticoats
that no-one wears anymore;
that were the scorn of the town
when she was young.
Waves slap and push
at her wrinkled brown knees:
she refuses to topple because
this is her home.
But she will.
it's September,
and see the fading tawny light
reveal its skeletal frailty:
the black lace of an old petticoat
split and torn. Through its spindly web
I see her.
Bitter air
cuts the smothering balm of the sun
With a sharp tingle of salt
In my face.
In my hair,
twisting knots from damp fibres
that lash and mesh like the coarse plastic nets
that cling to windows and gutters and roofs
that grab at small legs,
prevent the thick
throbbing mass
of starlings
from making a home.
Out there she stands
feeling no age, wading in the icy water,
her skirts hitched up
revealing naughty black petticoats
that no-one wears anymore;
that were the scorn of the town
when she was young.
Waves slap and push
at her wrinkled brown knees:
she refuses to topple because
this is her home.
But she will.