I wrote these poems in 2017, when I set myself a challenge of writing a poem a week for a year. I have performed them on several occasions, including an LGBT History Month event for the local Labour Party.
Bare Feet
I left my sandals behind
In an apartment in Milan
Along with my heart
My hope
My affection for pizza
And two ice lollies
whose flavours
just did not translate.
Beginnings
It’s new,
like the gasp of air
before the cry of a newborn
that new.
New like the damp grass
in the early morning
before the dew has risen in the air.
It’s new like the curl of a foot:
stretching, twisting, releasing,
when a muscle cramps, seizes,
releases.
It’s new but it’s not momentary.
It’s not a flash that fades,
leaving startled eyes blinking
a bright haze in their vision.
It’s not the startled cat
that disappears down the driveway
nor the anticipation
that rises in your throat
as you wait to see your lover
and then crests and breaks
like a wave lapping at the shore.
It’s more like a flower,
petals unfurling at the start of summer,
scent refreshing every time it rains.
It’s reborn every spring;
resurrected.
No, it won’t be easily poisoned,
Nor chased away, nor soothed.
It’ll grow so much with us,
with you,
But for now it’s still new,
just a sapling
the beginning of the forest.
Max Louise Perry 