Duet

Yesterday, without warning your
Suzuki Alto somersaulted on the M4

with you caught inside, contorted
as the spine of the rust-sunk bedstead

disguised by the garden’s
tangle of dog roses, dividing
coded vegetables

from your lawn: a stage.

Two birds blend
their story on a wire:
you and I

aged eight and nine entwined

by the school piano where
our mother sparkles out
the keyboards certainties

in black and white. I’d keep my eyes
on that portrait of the Queen, feel

soprano notes tingle through your
clothes. Now you can’t even breathe solo.

Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s