Crane Flies
Sandbags by shop doors
smell of mildew, river.
Traffic whooshes by.
The evening sun glints
through horse-chestnut trees.
Their leaves like giant hands
are falling – we crackle
through them. Tomorrow
they’ll lie sodden.
In the bedroom insects skitter
up water-coloured walls
and you dart around
snatch at daddy-long-legs
trap them in your hands
careful not to break
thread legs and paper wings,
chuck them into the dark
for their last moments.
On the roof a conker cracks
like thunderbolt.
Push up the sash
close the curtains.
We’ll listen for the rain to start
thudding on the window pane.
(first published in South issue 43)
Sarah Barr teaches creative writing freelance and for the Open University. Her poems and short stories have been published in a range of magazines and anthologies including the Bridport Prize Winners 2010 and Wooing Mr Wickham pub. by Honno.
andotherpoems.com 