Memories of Green

The stink of this stuff
Wafting up from my basket
Sickly as saccharin
Cloying as cola
Coating my throat
Like treacle.

Foil and ribbons
To lay in long grass
For small hands to collect
And covet.

Such pain, hammered home
Pinning flesh to wood
Blood and sweat, tears stinging the eyes
Parched lips, tensed muscle
Rooted in baked earth
Rooted in wood
Ueaster wreathnder cloudless skies.

My basket is empty
The children full
That faraway green hill littered
With foil and ribbons.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s