Creative Writing - Poems by Judith Robertson

Weather

Words passed over me.
They slid from your once 'oh-so-perfect' mouth
fragmenting and forming scattered bundles on the floor.

You picked the bundles up, snatching the last words,
before moving out into the grey, frosty morning.


Transport

They walk, cautiously,
picking up pace.
The sun moves higher,
The air, sweet.
They move on, the pace slower.
The brows furrow.
The sun now dips.
The backs are bent.


Household Chores

The vase with the transparent wash of blue flowers lies smashed on the
floor.
The One that you bought for my birthday.
The One that reminds me of you.

You grab a broom and sweep the fragments clumsily under the rug.

As you close the door behind you, I smile quietly to myself
and listen to the small fragments crunch across the gravel outside.