From my soon to be published collection ‘Growing Places’—here’s a taster—I’ll let you know when there’s a definite launch date. This poem was written as part of a project run by Nina Lewis, former Worcestershire Poet Laureate, when she ran a workshop at the Jinney Ring Sculpure Trail, one of the exhibits was a huge head carved from limestone.

Head—Alone

I am ancient art or the apocalypse,
I don't see your footsteps 
I hear the disturbed gravel.
You breathe your bumbling tones,
wonder if I'm sleeping or dead.
You say I look soft-boiled

I feel your fingertip 
bones on my rumpled skin
as if touching parchment
—serenity—
yet...not skin, but limestone

Bees and bugs my bedfellows, 
my egg of a head lies alongside
the fragrance of lavender
and fresh,
pitiless,
spikes of grass.

Polly Stretton © 2021