Wall of Honour
Was that what made me turn my head
at that precise moment to tell you I wanted you –
our bodies warming under a stark
on the patchwork blanket
we’d spread across the
an alien heat beating down, cooking up
a daring I wasn’t sure I had?
Then your hands pale and smooth on me;
the strange commotion of our first kiss, your lips
firmer than I thought they’d be,
different from his.
Later we couldn’t find the path –
I panicked I wouldn’t make it home to see the kids
but a track with painted arrows led us winding
to your truck. In the dashboard vents
the yellow gentians I’d picked had wilted
on the burning plastic;
the pink thistles were standing, lop-sided,
heads hanging like lanterns
as if one voice had given up shouting a warning
and the other was showing the way.
‘Green Sun’ by Sharon Black won First
Prize in the Sentinel Annual Poetry Competition 2013