Everything swoops and curves even the line of washed whites swoops from the first floor window down to the fence martins above the roofs swooping and fluttering flying to feed girl child runs down the steps in a cloud of turmeric smell black hair in loops Everything flutters curves and swoops except those long-nosed planes that come every four minutes straight and grey.
Mary Michaels Mary Michaels lives in London.This poem is taken from her most recent poetry collection The Shape of the Rock (Sea Cow, London 2003).
This poem is taken from her most recent poetry collection The Shape of the Rock (Sea Cow, London 2003).