Spring Washing – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

Today is the first day we have risked the washing line.
The sheets go out first,
pale faced in the morning brightness,
skirts scattering about wind born legs.
The sweaters are more resilient to such weather,
they slouch from their pegs
warming slowly 
arms raised like they are reaching
to pin themselves in place.
Caught by their knees, dresses fold over
hang like school children from trees
laughter in their fluttering. 
The garden becomes a gathering,
loud in their wet chatter.
Today is the first day we have risked a washing line,
hope goes out first. 

Franz Marc, Flatternde Wäsche im Wind (1906)

When You Can Taste The Salt – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

Now you have evaporated,
I can see markers clear as crystal,
so damn sparkly in retrospect.
Forgetting,
if you had added salt to the veg
was as small as any mistake
chalked up to forgetfulness.
By the time you taste it
you’re too late.  

Fallen Flowers – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

“After last night’s storm the tulip petals are strewn across the patio where they mortally fluttered.”- Church, Jim Harrison

I keep all my fallen petals
the bruised blooms most would discard
as too damaged for the vase
in the centre of the dining table
where the best silver is used.
No one calls a chrysanthemum whore
for the bee at its core
or whistles when lilac tumbles
between sheets of sedge and foxglove.
They are simply flowers.
Imagine being no less worthy
for want of expectations,
your only driving need
to turn your face towards the sun.