A landscape of straw dissolves into view.
Thatched sage hills reflect, looking
down upon the brick valley –
dank and dirty, dreadful,
the lights popping out one by one.
Failing to understand pollution,
purer than infants,
they breathe so easily.
Kissed by snow, gentle as a mother’s love,
unblemished by so many years.
Reaching out to the skies,
embracing the clean winds.
Little grandmothers judging from on high,
wondering whatever happened.
Longing for the sunset, to pretend all is well.
Kirsty A. Niven lives in Dundee, Scotland. Her writing has appeared in anthologies such as Landfall, Strength and Of Burgers and Barrooms. She has also been featured in several journals and magazines, including Cicada Magazine, The Poet’s Republic and Sarasvati. Her poetry has also been included on the Lies, Dreaming podcast and the ‘A Deeper Country’ Poetry Jukebox.
Latest posts by Kirsty A. Niven (see all)
- Winter Trees - 30th December 2020