One Poem by E A M Harris

Shared Discomfort

Follow me onto
the high moors and stone-filled slopes
uncosy home of backpacks and weatherproofs,
where
raindrops peck like fairy dragon nips
and gravity
speaks, crescendo, in steep uphills.

Together
watch the bald summit invite clouds,
pregnant with tomorrow’s rain,
to low-fly
cliffs that leer above their corries
with
grey, granitic frowns.

Disturb
the sly burns seeping among the tussocks
and, along
the ridge, the hard-earthed track
hoofed by
sheep and deer, year on year on year.

Tonight we’ll find
the valley of the hovering hawk,
where old
words cough from dead throats,
and the road
leading to the roofless inn
and its black, still moat.

 

E. A. M. Harris has been writing for some years and several of her poems and flash stories have appeared in print and online magazines and anthologies. She blogs at http://eamharris.com/ and tweets as E A M Harris @Eah1E.

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