Behind my sister's house
       

Blue dog jumping snaps up time.
I myself no longer move except when shoved
by this swan-like presence, which is both
above the clouds and here beside me
crushing my lungs with its brick-like wings.
It keeps needling me with coincidence, pushes me
to the little copse below the motorway
bluebells buried under foam snow — an accidental sofa.
It steps out from behind a hawthorn in full flood
calls me a prisoner in a waterless pit. It starts to rain.
I kneel in the stupid grass, can't bring myself to drink.
I will do what I'm told — delete myself.

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Copyright © 2019 Suzanne Batty All rights reserved
from States of Happiness
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission