Poem

Neighbours

At first she thought ‘a wedding celebration’
because they filled the garden at the front
and sat along the edging wall of brick

above the pavement. They’d undressed to shirtsleeves,
and they were leaning over, eating melon,
dripping the sweet juice as if to feed

the sharp parched grass. But then she felt
the hush pooled around the door; and saw
Death beneath a sheet, downstairs-front.

Throughout the night, the box-size house stayed lit.
Cars, she heard, and whispers. But when she passed,
mid-day – nothing. Or nearly. There were flowers

the size of droplets rising through the grass.

joan michelson
london, england

Publication volume of poems TOWARD THE HELIOPAUSE, 2007.
Lecturer, Birkbeck College Faculty of Continuing Education.
Director, the Story Shoes Project Story telling/story writing/book making around traditional tales retold.Campsbourne Junior School, Haringey 2009

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