Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

After Summer

by Sarah-Jane Tweed

The sun in its best gown
unstitches rain from windscreens.
 
A pail of wasps pester hub-
caps in makeshift car parks.
 
I love you. I let the hot sigh of
the air vent be your breath before I face the
 
truth of the sea breeze. I drift in the cliff’s
hairy lip, atop a sandy jagged tooth. My limp
 
hand taps the papery glume
of the sedge. I reach for fingers -
 
those delicate fingers of samphire,
chamfered by Cornish waves.
 
Unreachable.
I look up to whinging arcs
 
hankering after summer and the suck-
spit of fat chips and razor clams.
 
Like you, my darling, they are not there.
 
It is late. The coy quiver of the wasp breeds
a silent terror that weaves
 
in mute. I look at my watch;
I still love you. My short gold hands clutch at
 
nothing and I watch the moon-fed
waves as they cry into the dark.

Added: 21.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem

13.05.2010

Really beautiful poem: I wanted it to continue!

25.05.2010

Some lovely images, but would be improved by a reduction in adjectives.

27.05.2010

"the suck- spit of fat chips" is a brilliantly inspired line.

02.06.2010

This is a lovely poem, full of heartfelt images and leaving the reader curious and wanting to return to reread it.

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