blown like a mad woman trailing veils across the lawn
under an exhausted sky;
contrary man-made wet and cold, out of rhythm,
confuses birds and plants,
dispirits us.
My mother’s old hibiscus plant, totem I have tended,
is alight with amber flames for a day,
magnificat that leaves me cold.
Extract from At World's End © Pippa Rathborne 2013 written for and included in the anthology End of Days - A Collection of Poetry, to be published by Forward Poetry in April, 2013.
