Gabi Coatsworth - writer
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Poems

Green Haiku

Sitting outside

With trees dressed in lime, jade and sage

I’m green with envy



There is a season

 

I can see further in the winter

I can see how far I’ve come

 

I always thought spring was my favourite season

The child, the teenager of the year

Full of sunny hopes and sudden squalls

 

My spring was changeable, moody in its growing

Still, I felt breezy, unshackled by the earth

I was so cool then

 

I often thought summer was my favourite season

A woman flirtatious and fertile

Light and warm, her endless days

Stretched out along the beach

 

This was my time to show what I could do

Yet all I wanted was the time to be

I was so hot then

 

Autumn was always my second best season

The earth giving up her colours

While her harvest was gathered in

Apples and honey, the sweet rewards of work

 

This was the time to gather in my life

The sunset’s rays illuminating my path

I was so mellow then

 

I never thought winter was my favourite season -

Defiantly festive through its shorter, darker days

But down beneath the ground bulbs are beginning to wonder

Is it time?

Is it now we put down new roots and start the journey up into the light?

 

I can see my breath now when I breathe out

And so I am alive, after all

 

To My Sister

 

They told me there was an end to every pain

They insisted on it, the grief counselors

But no-one can structure my sorrow

I have to sculpt that piece of flint myself

 

Years later, sudden and sharp - a chiselled arrowhead -

The longing for you takes me by surprise.

 

I’ve done enough, I want to tell you -

I’ve done my best with the son you left behind

Why can’t you take over, now?

Because you’re dead, I scream into the silence

and one day, your son will be as old as you, then older.

 

But when I see our son I remember how you were:

the way he scowls when I call him on something

the rueful look he has when I catch him out

his helpless laughter when I crack him up

the way he stands, his back curved, weight on one leg.

It’s you -

And it’s not

 

My sculpture is still made of sorrow’s stone

but the edges are a little smoother, softer, now

 

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