A poem by JENNA HAM.

 

This is a day.

 

This idyllic space, though, might

Disintegrate before my eyes

Like a frame I’ve dropped on the kerb,

If I’m not too careful.

 

This time in my life,

Roof-bathing in sun spots,

Is on the brink of ending.

 

I don’t feel so good, Mr Stark.

 

Image courtesy of Jenna Ham.

 

This all withers and fades in the stillness of a summer day.

These trees firm in their roots, even,

Are turning white in front of me.

To be uncouth, un-cuð, to cut right down.

 

The shuttle of birds past my left side

Reminds me to walk

On this cable-car line that I take on every day.

 

Even my poems are starting to sound the same;

Same the sound to starting are poems.

My poems are losing their face.

 

But I’ve never seen the leaves look so dewy:

Shiny, and soft and sane.

 

Image courtesy of Jenna Ham.

Featured image courtesy of Jenna Ham.