‘She Wears an Apricot Dress and is Drifting Away’

On a journey back from Herne Bay, the sun loomed large and seemed so close to earth. It was a fierce colour. It was winter. As we turned into Faversham Lane to go to Newnham Village, the sun seemed to set the bushes alight. It looked like a burning bush.My child said it looked like the end of the world was coming. When I got home, I randomly spotted a story on Facebook how the Inuit had contacted N.A.S.A as they believed the Earth had tilted further and that the sun ‘seemed different.’ The poem also explores how we must change too if we want to preserve our environment.I wrote the poem to preserve the memory of the sun as she appeared that day, burning the Newnham Valley. My daughter had also said that she hoped all the towns and villages nearby had seen the sun that day. If they didn’t, here she is…

Who stole the sun? Put her back now and we will say no more about it.

Shadows loom in crooked places. Where you were cast rod straight at noon,

now I see your long shadow shyly limp the alley at two. It’s a different sky

to when we rolled in snowy fields. Now the sun carves a tilt, hangs lower

 

and paler in the sky. A roasting Sunday, we walk on the beach, drive

back, salty, loose tongued, sun glows huge. Apricot bright. Peeks a stark,

clawing tree as we turn gently into our quiet lane, sun sets fingers ablaze

before it sleeps. And should you stop turning as night slow dances then

 

I will turn and see the curve of your long limbs in soft silver and remember

them one last time as old gold shone sly upon you amongst snow tip blades.

And when the steel spade axes the bridled white earth, I will look and see

you fetch the ripe sun. Yes, the sky has changed and I must change too.