The sun had almost given out that day
I went out late, after the sun had almost
Left us all behind.
The first thing I saw was the birch tree,
That had turned such a shade of yellow
As I’d never seen.
It was brighter and purer somehow than any green,
And the colour ran sharp through me, set me
Crying as I walked.
Blackberries were pouring down. The grass
Was dying in the last of the wintry light.
The streetlight glow began.
Willows by the river, and the plane trees,
All said “I know” whenever the wind filled
Their echo chambers.
Ducks and geese and magpies live here,
Resourcefully around our houses.
Swans, blackbirds as well.
I swung on the kissing gate and realised
I don’t know whether he’s for real, or if he’ll
Ever come back here.
Rachel is a London-based poet. She was previously a poetry editor for the Mays Anthology and a Young Producer with Poet in the City. Her poetry can also be found on the Poetry Society website, in the Dawntreader and Kindling journals, and unpredictably at live events around London.
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