Seven times my life has danced
(after ‘Three Times my Life has Opened’ by Jane Hirshfield)
Once, as your laughter and mine made music
Once, when the tune was all yours not mine
Once, when we escaped formation, sycamore seeds in flight
Once, when playing your body as a heavy metal guitar riff
Once, when words played hide and seek, and I didn’t wear a skirt
Once, under weeping willows veil, hands clasped belting its trunk
Once, with conkers rolling underfoot, cartoon characters losing our balance
seven times my life danced until I fell
and on falling
found my feet
realised the music was mine to make
flautist, drummer – percussive beat
dancing to the swish of skirts swirling
wildly, I’m only finishing when I’m complete
and I’m never done
the distant drumming
keeps me dancing
ever on
ever on
Uncle Peb’s Funeral
He called you the babby
when he hugged you last
you danced at his funeral
you are the oldest now
you cried the deepest sobs
and danced with great joy
at being amongst family
the music was in your head
but you danced anyway
with people you knew,
people you’d forgotten you knew
people you thought you knew
but didn’t know you
too much knowing
not enough feeling
never enough dancing
Pockmarked Pavements
rain pools in the potholes
puddles in the depressions
water plasters over the cracks
the treachery of Winter
freezes black on tarmac
and we slip to school
and slide to work
friction free and thrilling
at the temporary hardness
of our unreliable hollows
Flights, Issue Nine, June 2023
Flight of the dragonfly 