Ruth Hanchett: ‘Endgame’ exemplifies how I seek economy of words, an approach that seems increasingly my own. My poems placed in competitions, magazines or anthologies have tended to be highly compressed. I find membership of the British Haiku Society helpful.
Walked by your river this morning.
Sunless. Clouds longed to let go
their rain. Boats clung
to their moorings. Cafés closed.
Ward windows struggle to bring in
trees and sky – your river
too far away.
You lie in bed, soft-skinned
downy arms by your sides,
hair wispy as a dandelion clock,
whitely transparent, face bone-cheeked.
Your ‘yeses’ are baby birds,
tiny attempts to fly out
of your mind into mine. Your eyes
speak. You open your mouth
to be fed. Wait. Clamp it shut.
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