Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

It's raining

by russell brierley

I awoke early
and sat on the edge of the bed,
I leaned forward to look through the crack in the curtain.
I saw the faint reflection of my eye,
No love
No feeling
No sense
No meaning.
Just bloodshot white and the faded hazel, faded with age,
Circled with grey, high in cholesterol .
All of this in a haze of drizzle.
‘what’s the weather like’ she asks
‘Its raining’ I say.

Added: 30.04.2010

Judges' comments on this poem


Image of the eye has stayed with me. I found this poem more unsettling than I expected- which means it's worked!