Flesh, blood, and bones, that’s all
You may put your faith in birds or books
written in two columns. You may believe
in statues, arches, stained-glass windows
the jittered intricacy of the velvet
that lines the violin case open on the pavement.
You may rely on flamingos, black wings and legs
like rusty rods, old and tarnished, which you trust
will secure the chair-o-plane seats
in the funfair that comes every summer
smelling of singed sweetness.
***
The gardener
I like to plant things, the gardener said,
that die well. What I mean to say
is when they’ve gone, they leave
something for us to cherish in the low
September light. Translucent petals
that whisper to the winter wind, remember
spring. Seed heads held high, bearing
the frosted burden of knowing
that beneath their steadfast stems,
I have planted snowdrops.
Katherine Collins is a writer from Portishead. Her poetry has appeared in The Rialto, bath magg, Shearsman Magazine, Finished Creatures, and featured in the Osmosis Press ‘new writing’ series. ‘They multiply their wings’, a collaborative work with composer Christopher Cook, won the 2022 Rosamond Prize. https://katherinecollinspoet.com
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