This poem is taken from Stand 220, 16(4) November - December 2018.

Judi Benson Two Poems

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)
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