Restless

by Ruby Dunn

Resting weightless on the clover

The egg shell lies beneath our tree -

I see it as I look this new home over

It’s damask against the green.

The clouds speed me by

A north sea breeze rolls in

It bothers me - when did it fall, and why?

The seagulls screech and disrupt my reverie

It was before my time:

I leave it there a relic

Of some never witnessed new beginning.

The plum tree was green the day I arrived,

Fruit beginning to swell but still bitter to the taste -

Mistaken at first for greengages.

I was full of plans to make jam and pie

The second they purpled.

It’s all fallen now.

The ripened skin is very pretty

It suits our garden very well.

I’ll make the jam another year

Admiring for now the dun birds

That come to eat our fruit.

The poets find the grass full

Of philosophies

And each ladybird they see

Bears some metaphor for life or peace

Or work or beauty

If I could find the time to search the clover

For my fate or mind perhaps I’d feign

Some accolades or rhymes

But all my thoughts are trapped now

By this one great sky - inescapable.

And so - resigned - I lie,

Weightless, here beneath it.

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