My chapbook, Self-portrait in Bronze, charting my first year of sobriety is now available to download and read through my Patreon. You can become a patron here.
Below is a poem from the collection.
A month ago the neighbours hired men
to take saws and ropes to their bountiful oak,
left it a raw trunk and pale cream stumps,
a skeleton thick against the blue horizon.
Since then it has grown impressively,
rapidly, burgeoning branch and leaf,
as if to say the cutting only made me
fiercer, a devourer of sunlight and wind.
But I am drawn to wounded things,
and even though it is almost round
with green, a slash of sky rips
through its side and that is where I find me;
the imperfect attempt at trying,
at changing and growing, at fruitless-
ly hiding. I am the wounded thing,
the one with marks, scars agape
in daylight and rain, starshine and dusk;
I am the oak, a pale cream reminder
of the death living at my edges,
the life forcing its way through.