By this card let us mark together
one more day falling past our shoulders
onto the leaves of fifty three years.
Red, amber and gold is my carpet,
and I only moments ago embarked
on my inaugural flight
in a plane named Warrior.
Twisted familial expectation
beneath fragmented family life:
my own way was a no way; failing and flailing,
confidence bonfired, trodden in, mud sodden,
but there was a will in all that,
and if it led to winter, so be it.
We have found new seasoning, you and I,
because we do not recognise the ground
and continue through the frost to dig,
when those who focus on cats eyes smooth over.
Now another autumn story is all but sealed,
like lips that have spoken their piece.
It is time to take up the pen again,
and mine this earthly experience
until all our years are writ.
aplaceforpoetry 