written by Stephanie Heaven-Terry
edited by Betty Doyle
My palm on the rock, spread
a rumble of heat, down the wrist, up the knuckles
back and forth, back and forth.
A beating sun,
three-fingered man, fabricating sound
The biggest butter slabs, fenced off
a circle of sweetcorn stuck in the grass.
Thick, thick heat –
Avon sweating shyly,
the universe watching slyly.
Till’ fizz of dark, Smooth edges reach
Warm butter, like salve,
in slick mirrors, neighbouring rivers.
and dust, the stuff of old friends.