Friday, October 03, 2014

25 Edge Hill Poets: Laura Tickle

We Are Banished

We carried each stone for two hundred
Lime, but
your fingertips left marks

as though in flesh.
The landscape grew around us

balconies and gold copulas,
and each wrought iron curl pierced you

in some way.

It took millennia
to get the gates to rust,

but we did it, and they closed around us.
The city, born and aged,

is dying.

The cold will fall, and cover us,
long before it even soaks the brick.

Procrastination, you say, makes it seem unfair,

but these are the rules of procreation.

The cities are as old as the Earth,
and have always been feeding.

  The cathedrals

are bone

and still

 We worship.

Laura graduating

Laura blogs here:  


Laura won  the Rhiannon Evans poetry scholarship this year.