Palm and rope

atoms of weariness follow her
she doesn't look across the fence
where he prepares lime
and satisfied
digs underneath the palms
at the churchyard

the bay is flat, the ferry cuts
green water, she ignores the way
rowers haul and sailors tack.
she is inside the hull of herself

she wipes her palm
on her dress pulls rope
and line, prepares
the last slipknot
her weariness falls
out of her, the rope
embraces the centre beam
ofthe old garage,
she drops into hard air,
the rope is on fire,
the last atom splits

palm trees grow beside
her last dark place
above the bay

she wagches sailors working rope
to foil the wind
and digs lime into the weary ground

Poems from 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

Embedded Dreams
Are You Worried About Yourself?

Reviews of 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

A. Frances Johnson in Cordite Poetry Review
Lucy Alexander in Verity La

Other poems by Jill Jones

The eclipse
Mouth Song
This is Friday high up


A conversation with Jill Jones