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Sue VickermanPoems |
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Weekend Break
Sue Vickerman
When we pulled up at dusk in nylony rags
of yellow mist, Pendle Hill looked veined and bulbous.
Fine drizzle mellowed your complexion.
After the B & B, bloated, we stretched our legs
in the vicinity. The swollen hill ebbed into the land
like a corpse, seepage pulling at our boots.
We tried to picnic, but each time the sun shone
the contours turned into candlewick
rumpled on twisting bones.
On the hunched bridge in the long evening light,
feeling the hill on our backs like thunder,
we saw our shadows mount the parapet
and hover above the rich pulp of decay.
I crept into the dark cleft of your chin
like a cave, out of sight, afraid,
narrowing my perspective to your profile.
