Stretching chaos

There was a time I didn’t know
how to fry an egg.
At one point I couldn’t walk,
now I run for buses I know I’ll never catch.
I couldn’t say ‘Mum’ for ages
and now I forget to call.
My fingers remember my PIN number
when my brain can’t.
My body feels like the roots of a tree:
stretching chaos below the surface,
miraculously keeping me pointed up.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

A log cabin’s fireplace

Morning Geoff, keeping warm? the security guard said. Inside and out, Geoff replied, with the charm of the silver hair tufts poking out the side of the conker brown flap cap sitting on his head. Geoff’s ‘volunteer’ lanyard hung around his neck like a gold medal. His eyes were a log cabin’s fireplace. He had the shoulders of a man carrying the world but a skip in his toes making it look like a feather. © Carl Burkitt 2020

Two warm hands

I sometimes feel like I’m a teabag
in a cup of hot water.
If you let me sit for a while
you’ll see the best me.
Leave me too long, I go a bit cold.
I can’t quite fit inside a microwave,
but two warm hands often do the trick.

© Carl Burkitt 2020