Satin Pleats

Her ears twitch towards the open window.

Syntax rivers and moans. Single orbicular

words: my name: Jo or, suddenly, Picasso.

Scenes take place:

 

An albino squirrel hovers on a shady footpath - 

a wild horse bucks - Delacroix - Penelope - 

on the bix - Mid Somer Murders - centuries

of thinking all boiled in the silver kettle - 

whistles right up to the wake - those left.

 

Now hushed, numbed in sleep on the home's 

death bed, faintly beautiful in satin pleats

of her nightie; the pretty young nurse combs

her wiry hair, moistens her mouth edges

with water. The blackbird's call reaches

 

the bed sheets turn morphine green, coughs

bubble from her throat, eyes jolt black, skin

fractures, veins fill with a final injection of 

colour: life explodes in a carnival of feathers.

 

Go to Johanna Featherstone's profile to read more poems