Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Poetry, Writing

Day 319


The rain, Eliot’s smoke in another world,
Sticks to the window panes, pernicious and
Poisonous, carried here by a cold wind
From the south, where last week it brought
Unseasonably warm weather with a hint
Of summer from Crete and the other places
Only dreams carry.

A shower of leaves steals into the garden
With the rising storm, but I can’t catch
Any of the luck bringers from the sky,
Withdraw into the warmth of the house
With empty hands and a shiver of regret,
To recall a legend an old woman told me
Of how catching a leaf in flight repairs
All broken hearts.

The morning half done, I walk down the
Broad street towards my fourth injection
To guard me from the virus of human
Intervention in the natural order of things,
Walk against the wind, against the rain,
Against the fumes and their traffic, pull
Off my coat and jumpers and shirt,
Proffer my arm to the needle, and head
Home again, my face wet.

On this way back, I stand under the huge
Trees, clock stopped, eyes fixed on the
Branches above me, and the birds finding
Miraculous paths between them, ignore
The noise, focus on the multitudes of leaves
On this leaf day this year, when they all
Descend, and am about to give up, turn
Away and start the watch again, when one
Oak leaf soars down from that great height,
Swirls through the gusts, further and further
From my outstretched arm, until I take the
Catch, one-handed, in my left hand, down low
Two feet from the muddied ground, and feel
Myself breathe easier.

R, 15/11/2022, 19:37




Get notifications of new posts by email.

We don’t spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

Leave a Reply