Poetry (68)

Hello Escritori,

This week has been non-stop, so I’m happy to have reached Sunday as it gets SO MUCH COLDER and life vomits me out into the urban grey, unfortunately…. to do suitably grown-up things.

I had a job interview for a bit of Christmas temping on Thursday. I think it went well, I got good feedback and the people are lovely. My old place could only offer two weeks this year. For the second half of the interview at the new place I dutifully pitched products at the manager (verbally! – although unemployment does wonders for your aim) and helped people on the present-buying prowl.

I do sort of like working at Christmas… Oh God. I’m one of those perpetually helpful Nice Women no one fancies… Hope I don’t finish last. Ladies first as a rule…

I am so sorry! It appears I’ve missed a ton of your comments that I didn’t see until I went into Dashboard on Friday. A bit of my weekend will be yours. Nothing personal, just life! (I literally typed ‘love’ just then. That’s what happens when you give you give you hands free rein over a keyboard while listening to Jessie Ware…) *fans self delicately*

Rest assured, here is this week’s Sunday poem and a tree dressed in cloth of gold to prove the wealth of my devotion.

(Closet Actress.)

20161115_104211

Trees

There has been some pagan rite

A great hand-fasting overnight

For every path is strewn it seems

With a confetti of golden leaves.

And the ash-green trees

Cold, mossy and wise,

Have lichen gilding

Their branches’ insides

The colour of

Ageing malachite:

While pure copper

Abounds at their roots

Like a memory

Of former youth.

Behold.

In awe, or stand bemused

For amid their reaching arms

And eloquent hands.

The wood is full of

The ancient nakedness

Of dryads.

 

(© Copyright Pola Negri, 20/11/2016.)

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