Sunday, 17 June 2012

Poem for Sunday: Emerald Green

Emerald Green
The fug of night
squeezes through the
narrow gap;
I enter the warmth
of their room.
Silence,
all apart from the rhythmic
breathing
like waves
against a sandy shore.
Tip-toeing, quiet as a mouse
I steal upon the box,
battered, broken and bound
with brown thread
frayed by years
                        and years
open to jewels, chains of silver,
bands of gold, and charms.
Hidden beneath
you lie still, secret
untouchable.
Cool in my sticky palms,
green and smooth
straight ridges slide
to sharp edges
over and over.
Chided, squirming, climbing
between two warm bodies,
wrapped in sleep
too dozy too notice
green snug in my hand. 
                                    Bryony Hart

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