trout

For her, poetry (i)

Jessica Le Bas

When life clouds over
when the remote control
controls the first and the last
decisions in her day
and her, remotely aware, switches off –

When the movement of another's lips
the rise in their cheekbones, their
row of teeth turn to gnashing, snaking
innuendo, and that word –
a see-saw, a slippery slope, and she
takes to the hills, the pills
pockets full, and her hands cold as ice –
            There is poetry

Little mouthfuls of life
freeze flowing and condensed
a chocolate spoon        full
            One each day.