In turning the page to September today
it occurs to me that my Mother was only thirteen
when Ansel Adams lined up his lens
for this calendar shot – a tree-trunk
measured against the haste
of a Yosemite river; wisdom of bark
silhouetted against foam and black water.
She wouldn’t have known
that her awakening ovarian line
held chromosomes
destined to dovetail with those
of a man daily cycling his way
around Nottingham.
When, later, cosmic collisions
that had birthed all our atoms
threw me a glance and said,
‘Now! Go! Have a place of your own’,
I jumped.
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Roger writes from fascination with historical, geological, biological & sociological layers in
the world around us. His poems have appeared in several Art Centres, ‘Elbow Room’ journal, online at ‘Liminal Residency’ and in poetry readings in London, Ledbury and elsewhere. He’s currently exploring collaboration with two visual artists.