Sun Shower


Caught in a sun shower,
the girl in my garden
flings five crusts of bread
in wide arcs,
bird gifts,
turns heel,
runs back inside.
Birds and girls,
saturated, singing,
leaping in my garden
like wings of rain.


Fierce white feet,
paddling harder and harder
going nowhere
on the bristling waves,
somersault of light,
a foam of dolphins
drenched their glistening fears.

Player piano and the
drowned musician,
mazurkas of the forbidden heart,
it killed us with a bowl of fruit,
a single pineapple that
reached the shore.

Round and round in circles,
fierce little feet,
their widening wake,
carrying the laughter of
their skin.
I thought of spiders and seabirds,
things that never dreamed of death,
or burst pipes,
or a broken coast.

And the children trailed their toes
and combed the sea’s green hair.
She shuddered at their touch,
she welcomed their kisses,
and the paper boats that ignited
beneath a flaming feather in the sky.


There was love in the room,
full, opening to the bending rafters.
She was a bouquet that
spilled across the bed,
while a basket of fruit
exploded in my face.
There was laughter in the room,
it echoed like a cathedral
of white love spasms,
when the sky knelt in prayer,
and the world obeyed the moss.
Laughter in the blood,
swinging from body to body,
two bodies scooped into
the sun’s morning paws.
There was love in the room.
There were bouquets
of exploded hearts.


A weekend trip we’d planned for weeks,

a rare moment

we both had time for.

And you had built it up,

a tower of blocks,

each an expectation bound to fall,

and I was not exactly

the fullest bag of fun that weekend.

You see, I’d noticed

those changes in myself,

that would later create so much trouble,

the strands of hair

that fell so freely now,

the new impatience,

restlessness at the end of another year.

My porcupine heart,

your bubble of expectation,

weren’t they going to collide?

And it was something so small

that lit it.

How your sweet face burst,

your body clenched to a fist,

your mind made up to go home,

and a whole day swallowed

in your raging hurt.

You stayed but,

was it the day

something unravelled from us?

The veins of our lives

wound so tightly about us

were perhaps bound to fray.

But this was always your way,

to severe the strands,

only to retie them

just the way you wanted

to fit the wild seasons of your heart.


Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014.