The gnawed at sleeve.
He pulled decaying weeds
and wove magnolias and sunflowers;
hired to brighten a dreary winter’s garden.
Â
Her stare met his.
Muscle twitch, hacking to snitch
off the tired bits.
Â
She fondled his aged-torn jumper,Â
glaring outside at the naked trees.Â
Stroking the cotton, a tender rub.
It grew on her, the absence.Â
Â
Her cleft hand sore to touch, bandage
to mend her broken bit. Thorn pierced,
skin bled. His jumper grew pale with time.Â
Picture No. 10000803 © Mary Evans Picture Library.
Natalie Baker is a London-based freelance writer and editor. Her poems and fiction have been featured in Synaesthesia Magazine and The Bacon Review, and she regularly contributes to the Bloody Good Period blog. Read her personal blog here and find her on Twitter @NataBake