Hi, here's an unpublished poem, hope you enjoy! Any comments welcome.
Battle Scars
It’s only late that evening –
a shopping bag of bread, wine
and takeaway dinner in hand,
she realises that she isn’t sorry –
not sorry at all for the muddle of it,
the stupidness and the days
wasted in babble and breathing;
the shocks of those unsafe sockets,
damp hair, candle-singed,
all of it was sin of a sort, but
in that evening, silvery –
a cicatrice spelling her name.
Not sorry, she thinks, as cars
pass on, and a black cat scurries
home through the gap. Not sorry,
as the catechism unravels,
and her soul-spun smog
evaporates, leaving nothing --
but extraordinary stars.