Quince Concurrence | 2 Words

“Quince,” he said “you…” This after such kiss: August 14th, 1:42 p.m.
Imagine then these two; this idyllic, pastoral summer
the plunkety-plunk of a Bach partita, g major
who would have expected this that then next
That he would be with her lips, tongue - all apricot….
Her heart beating fast as a hummingbird’s,
a thousand impossible, unseen beats per minute
Perhaps he sees the giveaway shy blush: hush
The silence after the word forever…
Such concurrence to be found in those lidded lined and labeled jars ~quince ~
Some portent or signifier:
He butters her bread, he breaks the seal; says, “Jam tomorrow…” then “, jam today…”
Her face now pale and flushed; an Amen of recollection.

By Sadi Ranson

Signature

two bird notes
stave-clung are

in the feathered cold

not amber dawn can obliterate
they sway their separate branches.

By Christine Murray

What is Left

This room was once alive
with colour and chatter.

Now bare, it is silent -
the sea licks at piles of bags
packed with our lives.

We will carry these things
to the bay tomorrow
where the boats will wait.

The furniture will stay -
stuffed with our memories
to become reefs

where fish will gather -
moving their silent mouths
endlessly.

By Juliet Wilson

Cat Watching

….Blind as a ballerina swirly against the air -
Remaining; broken in stealth, in motion sharkesque through the waters draw,
Extracting pollens, bunkum that breeds the sharpened killer.
As nubile across her generation.
She flirts, dances, in the breast of her mother who bore her.
White, blotches-of- black light – lightening;
She licks and flicks the swaying dandelions’
As potential suitors. Then casually flicks them away.
They as she, in centre under some magisterial. Mirrored orb – just is as…
She plays and looks for nothing. Seeking nothing, she wishes for nothing.
Other than plain admiration, of nothing more than herself in play -
Than my secret eye - viewing her in the garden.
Her sleek black and white greyless torso, twisting, turning and,
Leaves…, determinedly, across the wall – until, home!

By Jonathan Beale