Light catches the jam, your hand, between the fingers red,
placing the still warm jar on the shelf
I can almost touch you, your face steamed pink
from the rolling boil, finger tips pricked: haw berry, quince,
deep purple brambles, staining your shoes,
back from your ramble, wind-blown home.
Things That Trip Me Up
Yesterday it was his boots,
shaped to the bunion that sometimes hobbled him;
socks worn away at the heel, neatly rolled in a drawer.
Today it's a scrap of paper, flap of an envelope,
words that look like, I love you, though could be
two lemons, battery, something abbreviated.
From Hole in the Wall (The Rockingham Press, 2013)
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?