Poetry: "Morning After" & " Prime" by Katy Naylor





Morning after



The waves clap their hands

new fires ignite in the firmament

a single flower blooms in the heart of the forest for the first time in a thousand years


A gentle tide rolls over the crest of the hill

and warms the whole street


I turn the new day over in my palm

if I press it too close

it'll vanish in a shower of sparks and bright pink feathers


You adjust the sheets, brush away contented crumbs

it's beyond me

how you don’t seem to notice

that it’s stardust you’re stirring into your tea





Prime



Hot butter blisters

milk eggs flour spit fury in the pan


They never turn out how I hope

thick, misshapen, left too late

raw, or stretched too thin


My mother watches from a remembered stove

floured arms, the scalding frown

I still feel hissing at my back


A curl of smoke rises from the pan

another drop of disappointment

to crack my plate and taint my cup


You shriek in delight

anoint yours with a smear of jam

your joy a benediction


Maybe not all spirits have to share our table

maybe sometimes this is enough









Katy Naylor lives by the sea, in a little town on the south coast of England. She writes poetry, fiction and text adventure games in the time that falls through the cracks. She has work published or upcoming in places such as The Bear Creek Gazette, Not Deer Magazine and Outcast Press. She can be found on twitter @voidskrawl.