9, of a girl
An ugly streak of leaves is here, here marked.
Shame of an unkept body,
Break of day for need and errand,
Then back to secret dark when the sun’s up.
.
Flesh fallen from discards and changes,
Carved like a soft wood, a willow
The want is marked on skin but not the change.
She said ‘as the wind blows i’ll be fixed’
But it brushes both ways.
She flexes to and fro both up and low
And knows her range, from tree to tree
You see a life-like swaying there
But the weakness of the root remains the same.
.
Felled she finds her peace, a fallen branch.
Moss-covered through days, the ugly bark, rotted,
Though in those who sheltered there the hearth remains.
