The poet spells her name

I spell my name with an S –
a stream slipping between
banks of sun-dried summer grass –
an apple-cheeked a, arms open,
adorable. An r is a broken
arch of rambling roses,
red petals, russet rosehips.
The second a is ample,
and the h is the tail-end
of a long-held sigh.

A quadrille for Sanaa at dVerse.

Waking in a strange room

Maybe it’s that moment
when you wake from sleep
and the world is suddenly strange –
glistening with
noises that shimmer at the edge of sight –
heavy with light that presses on your skin –
the smell of sunshine, lemons, clockwork –
that moment is the one
that really matters,
that changes everything

I’m hosting for Quadrille Monday at dVerse tonight – and our word is “sleep”. But I kind of had to subvert my own prompt! Come and join us, anyway. Quadrilling is fun.

She seasons to taste.

Her taste is spicy – she loves
that chilli burn, the warmth
of peppercorns. She seasons.

She likes those
rich brown flavours –

nutmeg cinnamon,
cumin cardamom

She squeezes lemons,
grates the yellow rind,
she chops the green herbs

coriander rosemary
oregano thyme
basil tarragon

she gingers, garlics,
tastes and tastes again

wonders what’s missing

A quadrille for Lisa at dVerse. Our word is “season”