a clutch of gerbera.

i watched a wet cormorant on a rock in a tide pool,

her drape wings seeking heat from the bleak october.

and at noon i thought of you at your grandmother’s funeral,

in the miniature jewels of the yew tree, beneath lichen fur.

i imagined you in your annie hall get-up, cradling a clutch of gerbera,

in a ransacked mackintosh knotted just so, explaining your hips.

i pictured your nyloned ten percent legs

and i thought of you as a sparrow in a hedge;

felt the drum roll rain on mum’s sombrero of death.

remember the poem you read when we met

– of the bird pulling the worm from its bed?

did you consider these lines again today,

in the rain, with your beautiful daisies.

i will have to ask you later.

19 thoughts on “a clutch of gerbera.

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