a journal of fantastical poetry

Strike a Light

by Sonya Taaffe

for Toby Jones

Come out, small haunting of the Surrey hills,
I can hear you breathing
in the dark behind the stone.
Where others rattle chains,
you trail the echo
of smashed marrows and weeping melons,
a tungsten-filament UFO
floating by grace of candlelight.
Your cardigan unbuttons
a chest of hacked cabbage leaves,
scalped radishes and fat splatters
falling from your shirtsleeves.
You dream of sunlit grasses and library tones,
but the shadow at your shoulder
splits white as a projector's gate.
For what I can see through it,
I will not play you again.

December 29th, 2015

web design © mitchell hart