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