The Origami Woman

Yesterday, I was the fighter

plane that nose-dived from

our son’s grasp, face crumpling

against the sofa cushions.

Today, I’m the mute swan

you string from the ceiling:

paddling the air with invisible

feet, making waves.

Tomorrow, I suspect I’ll be the lily,

centrepiece serviette, unmade

in your greasy fingers;

daubed in ketchup;

my spine double-twisted

like a sweet wrapper

around that piece

of gristle you spit out.

I always hoped to be

a sailing-boat: to float

the light recalling

every part of me

I ever lost in folds.

I’d flame like a lantern

and then let go,

caressing the night

with starry fingers,

my face a lit moon

among a thousand cranes.

Because Angels Are In White…

The poem is on Doctors who were heroes to us in the time of Covid-19

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.