PaulPaveley

Pocket Fluff

I’ll find some fluff in my pocket, place it between my thumb and forefinger and roll it into a ball

I will give the fluff a name, that I might grow attached I will call it A Start

When I feel my most lost and desperate I will reach into my pocket and gently move A Start between my thumb and forefinger to remind myself that I have the power to give it momentum.

The plan is to get up and get dressed every day that I might get through the maximum number of pockets, help A Start build up enough fluff to earn a new name. On that day, I will call it Progress

Over time I expect bits will fall off or I may even lose the whole ball but there will always be new pockets to check for fluff

I can always repair or even, start again

One day I will invite you to the opening of a great roadside attraction like the ones they have in the States

Ladies, enbies and Gentlemen, I present to you this really bloody big ball of fluff It took a long time to build, but as it grew I grew to love it and on that day, I named it Paul.

@poet on the run

LeahAtherton

THRESHOLD.

The dogwoods are bleeding again

It is the season of rain, and the water is high and reeking of iron and salt

On the riverbank, her hands emerge first, sharp black crocuses against smooth ochre

She used to come here for paint, before

It is ugly work, becoming –gobbets of earth and moss pulled from her skin, new and pink as fresh meat; inkcaps disgorging from a slackened jawbone relearning to clench, gums peeling back from gleaming new teeth

She tears through sinew and fat discarding her mother’s mouth, her father’s eyes, bone bright words of promise clawed into delicate clay, she gulps down soil in fistfuls, smears the blood of her rebirth on the open door of her chest and swears never again will evil pass here

By the time her bare feet touch the ice of cobblestone, she has perfected a smile red and sweet as the year’s first fruit, loam-dark gaze soaking up the city that cast her out

Vengeance has always been women’s work