Photo by Clare Arni

Hands
reach out -
squeezing, stroking, cupping
her voice reaches a crescendo
as she finds
the perfect tomato

colours, textures swirl
before her
basking in the warm glow
of the only lamp in sight

the fragrance of the day-old flowers
nestling in her hair
mingle with the voices around her ;
the incredulous laughs
at the outrageous rates
of vegetables
that the children will waste

Note : I know that doesn’t look like a vegetable cart, and I don’t see tomatoes but I took some creative liberty and add some elements! I think the photo is really beautiful

a fly in the corner of
your eye

out of sight -
in a second
as I buzz right by

like a moment
you take when you blink
if you think

I’m a grain
of nothing
to be washed down
the sink

if you think
if you think

I am small
you mean nothing

nothing at all

Stay back, the voice in my head
keeps a cold hold over
my feet.

My feet, they yearn
to feel bare soil, turmoil
anything but soft cotton
transparent : touch – me – not
but only watch
from here.

Here, where I am safe -
where I am safe from me.

and as you squirm,
try to shake me off
I cling on, sticky sweet
gleaming in the glory
of the fading light

you give up, watch
as I make my way
to the tip of your finger
and I think it’s done

I’ve won.

there are clouds,
(dish water grey)
wet rags that
drag along a floor

and yet I see you,
tired and frail
head thrown back
trying to drown in
imaginary rain

there are questions
answers I don’t need
for now, I’m a blur
a thing-of-the-past
yours, a moment ago
when you ran your fingers
through my hair
as always, your fingers caught
in the tangled ends
and just like always
you left them like they were

the insurgence of now
no matter where the fire
burned, the embers of
a long pause remain

breathe.

I lie here when I say
there is another train to catch
I will never reach
the same place
I will never know the place again
when it is bathed in us

feet crushing, hands
slither up georgette
and now she can hear
those words turn
from empty meaning
into full moons

sheets rustle ending
years of seconds spent in silence
it took a verse of him
a chorus of her
the perfect note of them

oh, do tell
as I imagine he must
treat you very well
until the first sign
wait, let me ring
that bell for you.

New shoes still
shiny, still smell like
air tight boxes and tissue.
You wear them all the time,
everywhere, they squeak
like mice, like scared little mice
who chewed
the old shoes

Old shoes left
in another box, musty and dank
alone in the basement with the mice
who claimed them
on the day you brought home
the new shoes