Confetti on a Stone Man’s Wedding

Spring is failing.
And it’s not just the forecast
crooned by a camp weatherman
or the newspapers with headlines:
‘Scotland still Without Power.’
It’s the people.
It’s the people and the birds
and the hibernating animals,too cold to wake, too late to sleep.

It’s the gas suppliers rubbing
their hands over blue flames
as the meters tick, tick, empty.
It’s the metal vats of lentil soup
bubbling over stoves, with dreams of pepper and Mother’s Pride.
Spring is failing.
It’s the rain that freezes and
dances from the sky like confetti on a stone man’s wedding.
and the red breasted birds
salvaging the last piece of fat
from the half moon hanging by a rope on a naked branch
in the forest out back.
Spring is failing.
And the ducks dance
on the crispy crust of painful water
while trees squeeze their eyes shut
and hide the leaves that push toward the bleak and silver sky,
to live to die.
Spring is failing.

© Kirsty Lear-Grant

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