Lovebug

Crusted over,
my love wound
grows
a scab
not unlike
a black scarab,
scuttling.

Passed on

Here’s how history is handed on:
one day
the people we check our facts by
aren’t there anymore
to ask.

Song

Our very sharing
is an act to create
a trembling world.
So long as no one hears us.
The words of one,
so softly pressed against
my inner coloured life,
are the tender start
of a velvet deep
in which I drown,
warmly.

— 

Kathy Gardiner studied English Lit for the reading lists, but has since escaped to the world of language teaching. From Galway, she now lives in Roscommon where she teaches literacy to adults from Syria. Her work has appeared in Crossways and Hidden Channel zine.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash