2 poems by Katherine Collins

The edge closest to the sun
 

 
There is a starkness to this light; a fascination with fireballs and comets like
 
the vitreous bodies of giant eyes, spheres of hydrogen and helium fusing like
 
the deep shadows on the streets between


 
tall buildings, which trick the nyctinastic flowers – such as citrus-coloured
 
daises in window boxes – to close their petals, like the ciliary muscle
 
expands the iris in the magnesium-blazing brightness


 
beyond the gloom. At the frontier, particles of light and dark collide in sullen
 
acrimony. They cluster, bright parasols and windbreakers in primary colours,
 
in a boundary that rips and tears like the jagged rim


 
of an oyster shell. This edge is a place of certainty. Of the conviction of an
 
acolyte, of a bluntness of knowing that is as inescapable as the sombre oval
 
cast onto the pavement by a wide-brimmed hat.
 


 
As she tries to piece together the events of the night
 

 
In fast-moving streaks, the morning flares through the naked
 
branches of trees trapped in concrete. They flinch at the intrusion;


 
the light feels to them like particles that burn, like bonfire sparks or the bitterness
 
of toffee apples. Fissures in the pavement are adorned with the last


 
of the ephemeral weeds, groundsel, hairy bittercress, chickweed, speedwell;
 
their transient seed-bodies wave like exhausted hitchhikers and there is nothing


 
but the scent. It is the smell of fleeting ceremonies – stellar flares, anticipation,
 
a morning murmuration made only of feathers and electrons. It has an optical


 
effect, a contraction and swelling of the muscles, like childish charcoal writing
 
on the wall at the head of the bed. It is the smell that curled


 
from the downstairs bar, which settled in the folds of her jacket. She breathes
 
it in and remembers a figure lounging below a forest of pine


 
air fresheners, thumbing the switch of his lighter, the one with the dragon
 
carving. She remembers snuffing out a candle, fingers closing on smoky absence.
 

 

For Sarah.

_____________________

Katherine Collins is a poet, writer, and academic. She spends her time between Bristol and Oxford, where she holds a Leverhulme Fellowship at the University. Her writing has appeared in Ink Sweat & Tears, Finished Creatures, and Life Writing.