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2 poems by Sarah Barr


Meteorite


caught by a security

camera’s gaze


and people’s phones

held slant-wise


against the dark –

fleeting, fleeing star


I watch again and again

on screen


and on TV someone says

she wishes it had fallen


on her drive-way so she

could start


a meteorite museum

and I wish I’d seen


its shining moments

outside in real time


as it journeyed

and I wonder whether


it reached earth

sinking into sand


to be found

in the future


or never

as it burned up in the air



Hawthorn on the Cliff Path


Your gnarled limbs gleam with rain

and are stitched with moss.


Your small leaves can be eaten

in spring but are now frost-burnt.


Once, you were a scarlet berry

dropped onto chalk and flint.


Slow growing, defended by thorns,

the sea winds have carved you.


A landmark on my path,

your blossom could heal my heart.


__________

Sarah Barr lives in Dorset and writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in the

Bridport Prize anthologies, The Best New British and Irish Poets 2019-2021, Cornish

Modern Poetries, The Frogmore Papers 100, short édition, The High Window, and elsewhere.

Her poetry pamphlet January appeared in 2020 (Maytree Press).

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