November 4th, 2020Local Lines

i

A tentative rustle of leaves
before a breeze flicks the green curtains apart.
Glimpses of a private underglade.

In rushes the sun, revealing a mud floor
and the cracked stone base of a once-fountain
clogged with yellow leaves.

In you go.
The curtains swish closed behind you.
Look up.

Huge knotted heads
sit on twin pollarded trunks,
defying climbing access.

Step on to the fountain. Twist
a few tresses together. Grab with both hands
and swing out into the sun.

ii

Longer than its branches, Willow’s
drain-disturbing roots extend to all quarters
of the lawn, tracking down water,

some erupting into nuggety elbows,
the better to mess with mower blades.
Dangerous, Dad reckons.
iii

With Willow’s passing, shadows are subtracted,
the lawn flattens to featurelessness and
northerlies freely batter my bedroom window.

• Bill Wootton

Bill lives on an expansively treed block in Hepburn Springs, overlooking willows on Doctor’s Gully. He weeds like hell but has given up mowing.

Poems for Local Lines come predominantly from a group of poets. However, other locals who would like a poem considered for publication can contact Bill Wootton – cottlesbreedge@gmail.com