Home from hospital with a new hip –
with Arnica Montana on my bruises and swellings –
I sleep fitfully….
It is noon in the village: I recognise the place
by its various gables and chimneys,
by the pinks of its paving stones.
The hurdy-gurdy resounds before I observe it:
gliding into view is a childhood float
complete with its cartoon cast.
A plastic rabbit with an oval face
and a pompous voice
climbs high above the rest.
I feel so uneasy about this buck
that I cannot speak. Half awake by now,
I register the pain in my bones:
how it throbs in time to the music.
At regular intervals, the buck’s head sinks
into the huge, blueing dewlap –
only to emerge with a sickening judder….
I try to wake fully but am led towards a dwarf cottage
where the cartoon menagerie waits for its feast.
I listen to the woman with the ebony hair
that sticks out from her temples.
She resembles one of those monochrome gables –
is entirely unaware that I will occupy her psyche….
The music stops: the rabbit responds with a fattened yawn.
My pain gone, I anticipate nothing but food.
A straw man limps past.
I glance out of the lattice window
in time to see the raven poised on a gatepost.
A clock strikes. I am brought back to the otherlife,
knowing that my keywords – little, and slow –
are ones that I like.
First published in Anthology of Poems for GreenSpirits
Jenny Johnson is a published poet who loves sharing her work with an audience and is interested in taking part in charity events as well as those where payment is possible. Please see her website - www.jennyjohnsondancerpoet.net - for a sample of her poetry.