What the grass was hiding

After Tishani Doshi

A 50 pence piece, a fingernail sized pebble,
the wiggle of a worm, an unopened pot of Pringles,
an outstretched top corner save, Moria Stuart,
pickle on a Tuesday, my son’s future voice,
a splinter of a perfectly boiled egg shell,
a pint of cold water on an empty summer stomach,
the holes in running shoes, gherkins, pigs,
learning how the perfect high five occurs
when you look at your partner’s elbow.
The grass was hiding things that get you through.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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