In the Walled Garden by A C Clarke

In The Walled Garden

This afternoon on the cusp of October
each blade of grass still keeps
its glitter-drop memento,
a tiny prism, as if
a glass rainbow had splintered
harmlessly, the way a sky rainbow
breaks light without a wound.

A feather dropped from a pigeon rests
near a litter of shed leaves.
It doesn’t matter,
the way a tumble of windfalls
means not carelessness
but plenty, their bruises
glut for wasps.

Outside, traffic is growling, a plane
thrums overhead. I think
of glass and steel colliding, the sharp
glint of wreckage
flesh crushed purple;
and how bombs, falling, burst
into angry flowers.

In the Walled Garden by A C Clarke was highly commended in the Sentinel Annual Poetry Competition 2015 judged by Afam Akeh.