TRCH Priscilla

Snap Notts: The Windmill

18 August 19 words: Hayley Sleigh

This month's collaboration takes inspiration from Green's Windmill...

When my head is tight with

blustering ruminations, when I feel

the limitations of using words

to navigate my world, I sit

among tickling technicolour blades,

sunken cogs and sharply gazing

pebbled eyeballs, felled

log crocodiles, foaming

bubbled holds and algebraic chutes,

with swathes of sage that

taste like unclenched teeth

 

surveying slate landscapes in fragile

flux punctuated by distant sirens

the roar and squawk of schoolkids

 

I let them rattle

past while the sails inside

my mind pound and clang

 

I walk to the allotment welcomed

by pockets of pansies who

greet me growling up like

lion cubs, emboldened with

renewal while their neighbours

lie gasping, parched

 

Now is not their time.  

They will rest and emerge like

serpents bursting hissing through

the dirt, reborn

 

I’m drawn towards the focal point

that towering monument to

self-taught genius, parental inheritance

which has weathered fire, grief, riots,

light breezes and gales

 

Am I too powered by turbulence?

 

I think about buying a bag of

powdered power to bake

and savour, letting that ghostly

dust cling to my fingertips,

remnants of resilience.

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