These Poems


For one moment,
I turn my mind
towards my pot of tea,
and my words
scatter like mice,
hiding under
the leather arm chair
and behind
an art deco lamp.

On my knees
I find them,
drag them back
by their skinny tails,
as they try to bite me
with tiny teeth.

On the table
I gather them,
cajole, coerce,
arrange and re-arrange them,
until at last
they agree to stay.

Nicole Lynskey