Loss is a pocket on fire a scorched memory that burns a hand. An open packet in frail skin which longs to be shared. A fallen sentence scraping the ground with deaf ears. An aching sock holding a mountain in an open drawer. An empty chair with only a book mark curled by absent fingers. Loss is a running track with the eyes of feet stinging like my own.
Rain hurtles sharp as it cuts to the ground unites with waves as it wrestles the sea, a charge of wind will ignite a calm sky before a crazed plane dismantles its call. A thunderbolt will blaze every stunned flight terrified fleeing alarmed by the sky’s reach, a ray of light will always travel wild stealing the dark from unsuspecting eyes. My toes start to twitch as the speed sinks in but a chase to lost days won’t help me now, the ache inside is a stark reminder to not run away from who I am.
When I’m still, I can wake summer, let it rise from a hedge as a gold beam stitching the sky. The stir of leaves, as they pat the air and rich conversations that nest in my ears. I watch this parade my thoughts are clear, try climb with the eyes of the trees. But night remembers my trials yanks the curtains shut, knows it can start now.
Julie Stevens writes poems that cover many themes, but often engages with the problems of disability. Her poems have recently been published in Fly on the Wall Press, Ink Sweat & Tears, Dear Reader and The Dawntreader. Her winning Stickleback pamphlet Balancing Act was published by The Hedgehog Poetry Press (June 2021) and her chapbook Quicksand by Dreich (Sept 2020).