Cold burnt toast waits in dawn light
for a kettle shriek,
porridge stains hob-tops,
stiff boils emerge into oaty alps,
a lung faints above clouds
as her tongue lolls onto stone tiles;
last kiss into dirt and breadcrumbs,
A rib cracks in a gust of air,
lets out a tire hiss;
the cat flap swings in spring air
and paws tread prints into her snow-flesh,
veins mark snakes and ladders under claws,
purring, its soft head dings at a dead arm
and licks a line from ear to throat,
the wet skin does not move
like a pond where freeze takes hold
and goldfish hang
mouths open, in the glass,
the cat scrapes at the surface,
starved for fish.
One last tear melts down her,
red with life,
and the kettle sings mourning blues.
Roma Havers is a Manchester-based poet, currently in her third year of an Drama and English degree at The University of Manchester where she is the Books Editor for The Mancunion and Chair of the Creative Writing Society. She performs regularly at spoken word nights, and events such as Reclaim the Night and UniPresents.
Foxglove Journal 