Jane Roberts, Sheffield

(i)

The day the sky fell down on her
she turned.
After that, nobody really loved her,
the world was steel.
Light, birthdays, rain,
nothing really touched her.
Bound upon a wheel,
she couldn’t smile.

(ii)

Like beautiful voices with stories they can’t bear
and waiting for an answer at a kitchen table,
like swans on a dark lake
surrounded by a wilderness including foxes,
these are her memories lost in the wind
trying to find their way to sleep.   

© Matt Black (2008)