thegerminators

[thegerminators]

ladybird

She shivers like glazed ceramic refracting in the light and

breathes like the curtains opening, sudden and squeaky,

a rush of something and the end to something else

She sits while I write, a spider inching up the wall

and shuffles her legs like a ladybird on the run,

shocking orange under the terracotta skirt

sanding her legs

my hair changes with the leaves, the snow and the light

in nomine vocis

it gets longer and lighter, dried out for the farm, and

sits in four blown over rows on the sides of my head

the tufts at the front egg and soldiers their way to bed,

sweeping up the muck and the moods before they crawl over

and curl around my ears like a raucous cat

stuck in a fence

I am tired and there is no need

Her mouth opens and her head lolls and the smoke tickles her

toes one piggy at a time

Her eyes wriggle shut and its off to the market to fetch a price

three footsteps make a dance and shes so

close to winning.

Two more and the hot coals will bring dinner

charcoal lentils and splinter dove eggs, stewed up

tomorrow night, cupped in Joan’s hands and thrown to the skies

It’s up to her knees but thrones around her back

My eyes dance too, shuffle to shut, and we say goodnight.