Art Murphy
Solstice
Since you’ve gone I’ve done nothing more
than bed the daffodil bulbs in dark mould,
rake and scatter the winter loam.
From rowan trees withered leaves relent
and fall from clean wounds -
no resin needed for healing compound.
From under the hedge I harvest summer toys
the children abandoned, and the grass
though jaundiced refuses to be flatly seared.
The dog mopes around me but the children
are anaesthetised to my touch. On the stairs
a cheese plant lays shadows on each step
and in the bedroom the window’s already icing up.
Unabsolved, my love hibernates
in the dark corners of your absence.
Page(s) 62
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