[ as if } sunflowers
seen from above
those yellow runners
heading off without
without
your granddaughter you
smile so crookedly when she kisses
save it up for after
for that cold house
she wraps red and white tea
towels across
her heart
takes the edge off
JUNGLE JUICE shouts across the traffic
skirted in woven mat
memory lead astray by weather
jungle stares across the Channel
somewhere it is the dead of winter
[ as if } time
wears red hair
always in transition from one state to another
always in denial
middle aged dentist who can’t let go
reaching out
with her unfree hand
waving around a small mirror
trying to get a fix
either way
backwards or forwards
[ as if } this red car
this red car
this red car
this red car
this red car
this other car
this red car
this red car
this other
side by side staring out the empty screen of sea
doors banged shut
and locked
steering wheels unturned
all the windows bleared had
nothing more to say
[ as if } this / she had
-patricia reid
